What's Past is Prologue
by cu-kid
Summary: Victory wasn't the end, merely the opening move. This time, she won't be offered her dreams—she'll have to choose between her life and another's. Reader Beware: There is no guarantee of safe travel, timely rescues, or happily ever after. Complete!
1. Lost and Lonely

**What's Past is Prologue**

Lost and Lonely

"Dad, I'm _fine_."

"You've been saying that for the past year, sweetie. It's been your answer to everything."

A heavy pause and she knew what would come next.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?" her father asked, right on cue. "You haven't been sleepwalking again, have you? I hate to think of you out there all by yourself wandering around."

Sleepwalking, she had been told, was a byproduct of high levels of stress or anxiety. And Sarah Williams had had plenty of both in the past year.

"No, no sleepwalking," Sarah told her father, trying not to sigh. "I swear I'm fine."

"I could come down, stay with you for awhile."

"No, Dad, you don't have to do that," Sarah said, shaking her head, forgetting he couldn't see it. "Besides, I think this will be good for me. I'll fix up the house, get it ready to sell and then get out of here."

"Where will you go? You know you're always welcome to stay with us until you figure something out."

Sarah rested her chin in her hand and gazed blankly ahead of her. The overhead lights rimmed the arching chrome facet of the sink with gleaming white-gold highlights. "I don't know," she sighed. "Maybe I'll go out to the west coast...or China."

_Yeah, China sounds good...where nothing is familiar...where I can lose myself in a sea of billions of people...eat raw food and watch sumo wrestling...no, wait, that's Japan..._

"—so dramatic, sweetheart, ever since you were a little girl," Sarah's father was saying, a slight chuckle in his voice. "All right, all right, I'll stop pestering you. But you call me again soon, okay? And let me know when you're ready to get that house on the market. I'll come down and help you out."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Sarah promised. And then, for some inexplicable reason, a lump formed in her throat. "Thanks, Daddy."

"Anything for my little girl," her father told her, voice laced with paternal warmth. "Good night, Sarah. I love you."

"You, too. Give Karen and Toby my love. Bye, Dad."

Sarah sighed as she set her cell phone down in front of her. She contemplated the smooth wood of the counter with the tips of her fingers, raised her head and looked around the kitchen. Small puddles of golden light spilled onto the speckled granite counters, gleamed from the glass panes in the cabinet doors. During the day, sunlight poured through the large skylights, making the room warm and homey. It was a beautiful kitchen. The kind someone would love to cook in; the kind people gathered in for warm drinks on cool evenings.

The kind of kitchen he always wanted...

_The sun had been shining through the windows that morning...remember? He was already awake, his forlorn gaze directed at a plate of black squares while the toaster smoked behind him. He looked up and his shoulders drooped._

_"What's wrong?"_

_"I was trying to..." he trailed off, shrugged dejectedly._

_He had burned the toast he had tried to make for breakfast...the eggs hadn't been cooked long enough and were runny..._

_"It's okay. We can just scrape the toast off."_

_It had been hard to contain the laughter as the black stuff had been scraped into the sink. And it was, without a doubt, the worst toast ever._

_"It's really bad, isn't it?" he asked._

_"It's not bad..." Doubt lingered in the lines around his mouth as he frowned. "Okay, it's terrible."_

Sarah shied away from the memory. Pushed away from the counter and made her way out of the kitchen. She stood in the wide foyer for a moment, staring at the shadowy stretch of stairs leading to the second level. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep, but she dreaded the thought of walking into that bedroom.

"It's been a _year_, Williams," she muttered.

Which was so much easier to say, she realized, as she crawled into the large bed by herself.

This afternoon, she'd sat in front of the house for nearly an hour, just staring at it before she could work up the nerve to step onto the porch, to push her way inside. _Cottage_ was too small a word for the place—although, with its Queen Anne architecture and Tudorbethan details, that was the most accurate description. Chocolate colored gingerbread contrasted sharply with creamy wood siding, adorned every inch of the steep gables. A deep, shadowy porch wrapped from the front and around one side. Trees crowded around the house, hovered like rigid sentries grudgingly letting the sunlight dapple against the slate roof.

The house looked like something out of a fairy tale.

Sarah snorted softly at the ceiling above her bed. _If one believes in fairy tales and magic,_ she mused sardonically.

Sarah Williams had believed.

Before her trials in the Labyrinth, Sarah had been an angst-ridden teenager, who thought her parents were the enemy, her baby brother was her personal ball and chain, and who said things like, "It's not fair!" Her world was only big enough for herself, and she had been continuously lost in dreams, wishing she was more than she was and somewhere other than her dreary small town.

After the magical adventure, she stepped back into her world—still fifteen, but she had...grown up. She left behind the selfish, whiny brat of a girl she'd been. She started taking responsibility, became excited to babysit her little brother. She helped around the house, formed a healthy relationship with her stepmother, and even managed not to resent her own mother during the sporadic phone calls she received.

Sarah realized, later, what a rare thing she'd been given; a lesson on just how powerful words could be, the chance to start over, to appreciate what she had. And the gift of knowing her dreams weren't just silly musing created by a silly girl and her overactive imagination.

Staring up at the white ceiling, Sarah felt a bittersweet longing cut sharply through her. She quickly tried to squash it, to bury it deep down where it wouldn't touch her heart.

Because strange things began to happen when she thought about _that_ _place_ for any length of time. Sometimes only little things—a rose bush suddenly blooming with pure blue flowers, a sparkle just at the corner of her eyes leading her to something she'd lost. Sometimes it was bigger things. Freak thunderstorms on an otherwise sunny day. Reflections of people and places that couldn't possibly exist in mirrors, store windows or a particularly shiny pot. Trying to explain why she had a peculiar fascination with her silverware had become almost second nature for her when she was younger.

Sarah _believed_, with every fiber of her being. She had welcomed the golden shimmers at the edges of her vision (especially when she couldn't find her keys). She made sure to take an umbrella with her everywhere she went. And if people thought she was prone to daydreaming as she stared at the beautiful places and strange beings she saw beyond her reflection, well that was okay. The memories of her adventure didn't fade. She refused to let them go, continued to be grateful for the magic injected into her life.

Until...

Sarah rolled over and stared at the empty place next to her. She reached out to touch unused pillows, smoothed her fingers down the unwrinkled sheet, stared at the nightstand, bare except for a stained-glass lamp whose soldered edges gleamed silver. An ache rose in her throat as it did every night she lay in bed, alone.

He was supposed to be there, had said he would be there through everything. They would get married and have children, he'd told her, children with his sunny blond curls and her sparkling green eyes. They would grow old together, he promised, and he would buy them a matching set of rocking chairs for the large, wrap-around porch. And they would sip mint juleps in the cool shade and watch their grandchildren play on the swingset he'd build.

It had been a beautiful dream he had given her.

She should have known better than to believe it would come true.

Before the phone call, her life had been a bright study in contentment. Before, her future had promised laughter and love and smiling days. She had been happy, truly happy.

After the phone call, the sunshine dimmed and shadows began to creep along the edges. _After_ was when she finally stopped believing in the magic and fairy tales, when she woke up from the dream and entered the harsh nightmare of reality.

Because one day she came home and he wasn't there. It hadn't been completely unusual; he went for walks sometimes in the late afternoon to clear his head. It got too crowded in there, he told her. Too many ideas running rampant. Too many characters vying for his attention, trying to make their voices heard, he had joked, as though the people he wrote about were real. And sometimes when he told her a story or talked about what he was working on, Sarah believed they were.

He loved her ability to see the people and places he envisioned.

She loved his vivid imagination because it was such a perfect compliment to her own.

With only one exception, she remembered the events of that day more clearly than any in her life. She had come home, smiling as she pulled into the driveway. Golden sunlight poured around her as she opened the front door, set the cherry wood floors ablaze, made the apple-green walls glow warmly. She'd called his name as she walked into the kitchen, dropped the groceries heavily on the counter, unconcerned when he didn't answer. He always left a note on the small chalkboard next to the refrigerator…

But, _"'Journeys end in lovers meeting.' Until we meet again, have a good day, my love. ~J"_ was still scrawled across the board; the message he'd left her that morning.

Worry had jerked through her stomach.

She had pushed it aside and began putting the groceries away.

Any moment, he would walk through the kitchen door, golden hair tousled from the wind, sunshine still glittering in his sky blue eyes. He would smile and laugh like a boy caught stealing cookies. And she would shake her head at him with playful sternness, unable to keep a smile from touching her lips. _Get lost again?_ she would ask. He wouldn't answer, he never did. He would just cross the room, fold her into his embrace, bury his face in the crook of her neck as though he was more delighted to find her standing in the kitchen today than he had been yesterday or the day before. _You're going to have to start carrying pebbles in your pocket,_ she'd tease. And his lips would find the corner of her mouth, would press a sweet promise there before he reluctantly stepped away.

But none of that had ever happened.

It had been a jogger who found him—no. Not _him_, Sarah kept reminding herself. His _body_. Whatever Jake Furst had been, the inanimate shell found stuffed beneath the hawthorn, his blood soaking into the dirt like lurid fertilizer, had _not_ been him. The police couldn't come up with a motive—Jake never carried anything except his ID and his house keys when out walking, and both had still been in his pockets.

_A random act of violence,_ people had said, shaking their heads sympathetically. _Couldn't have predicted such a tragedy._

So here she was, widowed before thirty, left with a bleeding hole inside her chest as though a thorn from the bush Jake had been found under had stabbed through her heart. She tried her best not to turn into a shadow of herself, to keep her chin up and the tears private. Other people had made it through this and so would she.

But memories drifted through the house like phantoms, seizing her in their diaphanous grip at unexpected moments, the sticky filaments of nostalgia clinging like spider silk. And as the days turned into months and the months slowly stretched into a year, she still sometimes felt as though she would never find a way to staunch the wound in her chest. Even now, she sometimes found herself saying things like, "We would love to come to dinner," thinking things like, _I can't wait to tell Jake about…_

"It's not fair," she whispered into the silence of the bedroom

_You say that so often__…_

A grim smile touched her lips as the offhanded reply flitted through her mind. "Well, I suppose I have my basis for comparison now, don't I?" she muttered at the shadowy ceiling.

The answering silence only made her sigh and roll over. She punched a more comfortable hollow into her pillow, laid her head back down and closed her eyes, desperately trying to ignore the void behind her, inside of her. And the emptiness of the large house nestled along the edges of a dark forest.

She had loved Jake with all her heart, but she wasn't blind to the fact he thought just because he had loved the place, she would too.

_Isn't it wonderful?_ Jake had asked when he had first shown it to her. _Can't you just see Little Red skipping out from between the trees?_

Honestly? She thought it was kind of creepy.

And being here alone…Sarah was more inclined to think she would come across a wolf before a girl and her basket of treats. The house was quiet, now—_too_ quiet, eerily quiet, a different sort of quiet than when Jake went into town and she'd been home by herself. The house was just…_empty_…a place for shadows to loom. Even the sunlight dappling down through the windows felt sinister, gave a false sense of safety during the day. Night just made everything worse, made everything feel more...threatening...

The sound of a dog frantically barking drifted through the night. An owl hooted its displeasure, trees rustled in agitation. The house creaked and groaned softly like an old man as it shifted and settled on its foundation. Something scratched insistently at the window screen, eagerly trying to get inside—

Sarah's body went rigid, completely still. Except for her eyes, which flew open and widened to let in as much available light as possible, and her heart, which slammed up toward her throat in an attempt to jump out of her mouth. She strained to hear something, anything that would tell her how close the danger was, how much time she had before it crawled across the room and _got her!_

But all she heard was the blood roaring through her ears, desperately trying to make every limb in her body ready for flight, and the sound of her shallow pants.

_A tree_, she told her racing heart. _Branches scraping against the window. Have to get those trimmed._ She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Closed her eyes and relaxed one muscle at a time. A hint of cool air kissed the light sheen of leftover fear on Sarah's skin. A low rumble sounded in the distance.

A storm was coming.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** There isn't much in this story that belongs to me—I can't even take credit for the chapter titles—except the order of the words and the idea. Other than that, all characters (unless otherwise mentioned) belong to their respective creators and I make no profit from this story. Also, this disclaimer applies to all subsequent chapters, because I'm too lazy to keep repeating myself :)

**Chapter Title:** "It's only forever/Not long at all/Lost and lonely/That's underground/Underground..." _Underground_, David Bowie


	2. A Dream Within a Dream

**A Dream Within a Dream**

"Cherries of the night are riper, Than the cherries pluckt at noon, Gather to your fairy piper, When he pipes his magic tune!"

Washed out yellow and faded grey-blue spun around Sarah in a blur. The sound of small bells twinkled through the air, and she slowly realized a man, tall and wiry, danced around her. He wore a motley of yellow and blue, the diamond pattern outlined with tarnished silver and gold thread. He was also the source of the noise, the tiny bells hidden within his clothes emphasizing every minute movement. His hair was a wild shock of white-blond, sticking up above the half mask he wore, decorated to match his outfit.

"Merry, Merry, Take a cherry; Mine are sounder, Mine are rounder, Mine are sweeter, For the eater, Under the moon. And you'll be fairies soon!"

"What are you talking about?" Sarah asked, turning to follow his tumbling.

"In the cherry pluckt at night, With the dew of summer swelling, There's a juice of pure delight, Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling."

"I don't understand—"

"Merry, Merry, Take a cherry; Mine are sounder, Mine are rounder, Mine are sweeter, For the eater, In the moonlight. And you'll be fairies quite!"

"Nonsense." Sarah turned away from the crazy man in disgust—

—only to suck in a sharp breath as she gazed down the sandy hill where she stood. A dusty orange sun illuminated shadow-infested paths winding up to a towering castle. It looked exactly how she remembered; a little dull and a whole lot intimidating. Except she knew beauty lay hidden within those lackluster walls, along with enough danger to make her stomach twist at once again standing before the Labyrinth.

Noticing he no longer held Sarah's attention, the dancing fool rolled to his feet next to her. "Turn back, Sarah," he said, no laughter in his voice now.

A chill of foreboding crawled up her spine, but the response sprang to her lips. They were _her_ words, the right words. The words she had to say.

"I can't."

"Turn back before it's too late…"

Sarah woke up with a crick in her neck, no feeling in her left arm, and no recollection of her dream. With a groan, she pushed up off the couch, wringing out her hand to get the blood flowing again. As pain needled through her fingers, she shuffled upstairs to the bedroom, eyes neatly avoiding the large, heavily gilded mirror hanging on the wall. A glance toward the unmade bed made her frown, then a sigh passed through her lips; she had sleepwalked to the living room.

_Good thing it was just downstairs._ She wouldn't be surprised if she wandered out the front door one of these days.

With another sigh, Sarah stretched, grimacing as her shoulder and back popped. "That'll teach me to fall asleep on the couch," she grumbled, shimmying into scruffy jean shorts and a dark blue tank top.

Today, she would attempt to tackle the jungle of her backyard. A cool, early morning breeze danced lightly through the house, but held a hint of dampness, promising more miserable heat later in the day. Sarah stomped downstairs, securing her hair in a messy ponytail, and surveyed the backyard. She considered hiring someone to come rip everything out and cover it in concrete…

_Can't do that. You have to keep busy, remember?_

She pulled on a pair of work gloves, then waded through the dense growth, once a beautiful garden. The honeysuckle pouring over the edge of the cobblestone wall scented the air thickly, overriding the odor of dead leaves decomposing under the weeds. Sarah made a plan of attack and began working.

An hour later, she slowly pushed to her feet, wiped sweat-slicked wisps of hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist, and surveyed her progress. A fair portion of dandelions, creeping charlie, and thistles were cleared. Looking around, she thought she might be able to have a decent amount done before dinner.

A rare grin touched her lips. It felt good to be doing something productive again. She'd spent too much time in the last year wallowing in a lethargic grey mist. Now, Sarah tilted her chin up and let the sun sprinkle warmth over her face. She took a deep breath, smelled dark earth, sweet honey, and the crush of living things. Her knees and back ached, she was sweaty and dirty, but she felt alive again.

A glitter of rainbow color sparkled at the corner of her eye. Opalescent wings clattered in the thick air, and Sarah's heart skipped a beat.

The tiny creature zipped in front of her, and her muscles loosened as a wry smile tipped her mouth. The dragonfly hovered before her, darted toward the bright orange honeysuckle, then disappeared.

"Get that imagination in check," she chided herself. "The only magic here is how everything managed to stay alive despite the neglect."

After lunch, the men she'd called to trim back the branches closest to the house arrived. She made a pitcher of lemonade and offered it to the three of them. They smiled and thanked her, finished their job and left. Starved for human contact, Sarah grabbed her purse and drove into town. She wandered around the hardware store, looking at things she didn't really need until a salesman approached her. He was an elderly gentleman, and after chatting with him for awhile, Sarah learned he was also the owner of the small store. Sarah took her time as he went over the pros and cons of each air conditioning unit with her.

"Now, will you be using this for one room or several?" he asked, followed by, "How big is the space you're wanting to cool?"

She gave him a rough estimate of the size of her bedroom, then decided maybe she should buy one for the living room as well. She may only be in the house for another month, but at least she could be comfortable. The kind man suggested the Kenmore, and Sarah nodded in agreement.

"Won't even know it's runnin'," he told her.

Sarah pulled out her credit card.

"We can drive these out and install them for you, if you like."

"That would be perfect," Sarah said, gratefully. It meant that much less time spent in the house alone.

Because night fell and the shadows crept closer. Even the spindly halogen lights were hard-pressed to keep them at bay. Determined to ignore them, Sarah resolutely crawled into bed with her laptop. She wrote some emails, forwarded a silly poem to her brother, and browsed through a few news pages. When her eyes began drooping, Sarah snapped the computer closed. She curled onto her side, her back to the window, and welcomed the abyss of sleep stretching out before her.

She wasn't sure what woke her; an odd sound, the sudden change in temperature…Sarah opened her eyes, straining to see in the thick darkness—

Awareness jolted through Sarah. The light next to her bed was off. She was certain she'd fallen asleep with its warm glow surrounding her. She didn't like sleeping in the dark; hadn't really been fond of it since…well, for awhile now.

A gust of wind battered the house. The trees hissed in irritation. A branch _scratch, scratch, scratched_ against the window—

No, she'd had those trimmed today.

Every muscle in her body seized with fear. A warm breeze touched her bare shoulder and carried the crisp scent of rain, shoving aside the cool, processed air of the unit humming quietly along.

And the _scratch, scratch, scratch_ came again.

It sounded like fingernails against metal mesh.

_Ridiculous. Just roll over and look!_

Her body, though, was caught in the childhood belief the Big Bad wouldn't get her if she remained as still as possible. Taking a deep breath, Sarah shoved the feeling aside and forced herself onto her back. Slowly, she let her head fall to the side.

Darkness choked the room. It splashed over her eyes like an ink stain, slipped into her mouth and down her throat, gagging her. Ribbons of it caught at her wrists and ankles. Before she could make a sound, she was bound in place, blind and mute…but able to _hear_ the slow drag of fingernails over the screen. The flimsy mesh fell from its frame. A heavy object thunked against the floor…took a dragging step. Toward her.

"Sarah…I'm on your one step…"

Fear quivered through her limbs as her brain and body came to a stalemate—remain still, or struggle in the hope of getting free?

That voice…

"Sarah…I'm on your two step…"

Every fiber of her being recognized that voice…

"Sarah…I'm on your three step…"

Jake. Her husband.

Her dead husband.

"Sarah…I'm on your four step…"

It sounded like him…if he'd been smoking, or stranded in the desert without water…

"Sarah…I'm at your bedroom door…"

The temperature in the room dropped. Icy hands traced a revolting path up her leg. Sarah's heart nearly exploded in her chest. She could hear her frightened whimpers as she cringed from the touch.

"Sarah…I'm at your bedside…"

The voice choked off. Something smacked wetly. Sarah's stomach rolled, and she was grateful she couldn't see anything. Whatever stood over her, whatever ran its clammy finger down her arm, making her skin want to crawl right off her bones, _wasn't_ Jake.

It couldn't be.

A mucid sound oozed through the room. Sarah struggled against her bonds. Oh, _God_, whatever hovered above her sounded like it wanted to _eat_ her! Ice trailed over her stomach. She envisioned bony fingers digging into the soft flesh of her abdomen to pull out her guts.

"Sarah…"

She wheezed helplessly.

"_I've got you_!"

Hands locked around her throat. Cold, slimy fingers squeezed the air from her.

Sarah screamed and bolted upright. She threw herself from bed, landing hard on the floor. Her elbow connected with wood at the precise angle to make the side of her arm numb all the way up to her pinky. The back of her head collided with the nightstand. Dazed, Sarah blinked pinpoints of brilliance from her eyes. Her gaze darted to the bed as she gathered herself to run before _that thing_ could touch her again.

Instead, she froze in place.

The room was…empty.

Moonlight touched the walls, the floor, and the furniture with its silvery glow. Sarah scooted toward the bed and cautiously looked over at the window. It was closed. Relief breathed out of her as she rose to her feet—

—and screamed as something grabbed her ankles. She lurched backward, frantically extricating herself from…

The terrifying cotton sheet.

Sarah gasped out a shaky laugh. A dream; it had all been a dream. She'd been thrashing in her sleep, and the covers had twisted around her. There wasn't anyone in the room. Her subconscious was balking at shadows. The clock next to the bed flashed twelve-thirteen, which explained why her light was off. With a sigh, Sarah unwound the sheet from her legs, shook it out, and spread it over the bed. She crawled under the covers, determined to get a good night's—

_Thump._

She was wide awake. She _had_ to be. So she only imagined—

_Thump._

—the soft noise coming from somewhere in the house…floating up the stairs…whispering down the hall—

_Thump. Thump._

—creeping toward her bedroom.

Sarah flicked on the lamp. She scrambled out of bed, unsure if fear or anger fueled her actions. Whatever was keeping her from sleep was going to die, though. Slowly. Painfully. She rummaged around in the closet until she found Jake's old baseball bat, then rested it over her shoulder as she stalked toward the door.

"The wind is knocking something against the house," she said, slowly stepping into the hall. Investigating the noise was a Bad Idea; she should lock herself in her room and call the police. "And when it turns out to be the sump pump? They'll think you're crazy…crazi_er_."

Besides, her cell phone was in her purse…in the kitchen.

Bare toes grazed the cool wood of the first stair, then Sarah carefully eased her weight onto it. She skipped the next step, knowing it would creak. Near the middle of the staircase, she paused, casting a glance over her shoulder. The light from her bedroom spilled into the hall, a narrow band of gold beckoning her back with its promise of safety…

As quietly as she could, Sarah tiptoed down the remainder of the stairs and toward the living room. Bat held over her shoulder, ready to take a swing at anything that so much as twitched, she peered around the corner. The couch and chair were blocky outlines in the dark, the entertainment center was a large black void against the wall, and the bookshelves were looming sentries.

Cautiously, Sarah slipped along the wall to her right, blindly reaching for the light. It clicked on softly, the shadows jumped back…and Sarah stared.

Books were scattered all over the living room. Sarah's brow creased as she walked around, picking the books up and absently reading the titles; _The People of the Sea. Celtic Twilight. The Kiltartan History._

"What in the world…?"

She stood in the middle of the room, clutching the volumes to her chest with one arm. It was as though someone had been searching for something, or a child had thrown a tantrum at not finding the right bedtime story. Other than the books, nothing was disturbed…except for her portfolio, laying open with her sketches fanned in a circle, and one laying in the center.

The first drawing she'd ever done of the Goblin King.

Cabinet doors slammed shut in the kitchen. Sarah's heart slammed into her chest. Her pulse punched against the thin skin under her jaw. She let the books tumble to the floor and raised the bat over her head with both hands. Fear made her grip slippery, her eyes wide, her gut cold. She took a tentative step toward the kitchen.

A blinding flash of light. A flurry of noise outside. Childish giggles skittered around the corner.

The French doors burst open. Glass exploded from the panes. The nightmare was beginning again—

Sarah bolted upright in bed.

No…not in bed. She looked around, confused and disoriented.

She was outside, standing in the middle of a tree-lined street. Not her street, though. One she didn't recognize because she couldn't see any familiar landmarks through the darkness. Clouds rolled thickly across the sky, the moon merely a fuzzy patch of white. The air was heavy and humid, and dense ribbons of fog swirled around her.

She'd sleepwalked again.

Sarah rubbed her arms and drew in a deep breath, taking a quick physical inventory to make sure she wasn't hurt. A sharp pain in her heel meant she'd stepped on something during her somnambulistic episode, but other than that she was fine. She still wore the shorts and tank top she'd gone to bed in, but it wasn't cold enough for her to freeze to death, and it wasn't raining.

Yet.

She didn't know where she was, but she couldn't have gone too far. _How far could I walk in…in…_She closed her eyes briefly and shook her heads. She had no idea what time it was. She could have wandered around for two minutes or two hours; she could be a few blocks from home, or a few miles.

When had the dream started? When had it ended? Had there been two dreams, and had she really woken up between them? Or had it been one long nightmare?

Sarah shivered and rubbed her arms again. Continuing down the street, she wished she had—

She cut the thought short and smiled grimly. _Careful what words you choose. You never know who may be listening…_

At twenty-seven, Sarah might have been the only person who could honestly say she hadn't made a wish in twelve years. She didn't throw pennies in fountains or wells, she blew out birthday cakes with a blank mind. She turned away from falling stars, and she avoided toadstool rings or circular patches of too-green grass. Sarah knew the terrifying power of a wish.

A glitter in the fog at the corner of her vision caught her attention. She swore she saw a flash of grey-brown disappearing around a tree.

_A leaf blowing,_ her mind insisted.

Except the air was still, as though holding its breath. Sarah's next step was slower than the last. She swallowed the fear creeping up her throat and dropped her gaze to the dewy sidewalk.

_You're exhausted, and your subconscious has been running wild all night. Stop scaring yourself and get back to the—_

A shimmer of white-gold flashed in the trees across the street. Sarah came to a jerky halt. Logic immediately asserted itself; it could be…it was…But she knew very few things could mimic that color.

Her stomach lurched.

"Irrational," she insisted. "It's been twelve years, and you haven't seen hide nor hair of them…of _him_. You're being completely irra—"

A shuffling noise, like small feet moving swiftly through dry grass. Everything came sharply into focus as an instinct deep inside of Sarah screamed _danger!_ She spun around, eyes wide, heart renewing its attempts to crawl up her throat and out of her mouth.

Nothing.

She couldn't be dreaming again…right? She thought about pinching herself, but it wouldn't help. Her dreams were always so real—not now, but always. At least, since she'd come home from…there.

Sarah paused at an intersection, squinting at the street sign above her. Willow Lane. Relief swept through her. She was only a few blocks from the house. She stepped from the curb, thoughts of her plush couch and warm tea swirling around in her head.

_And maybe—_

A brilliant light pierced blindingly through the fog and surrounded Sarah. The horrible sound of metal grinding against metal rent through the air. White pain ripped through Sarah's vision as red agony exploded through her body. Someone screamed; she could hear it faintly, as though it came from the end of a very long tunnel.

_Great. First the haunted house, now the alien abduction._

It was the last thought she had before the numbing blackness consumed her.

**ooOOOooOOOoo**

He had time…was running out of time…couldn't remember what time it was. Couldn't remember where it would happen, or when he was supposed to look. He'd spent so long waiting, he almost forgot what he waited for. He couldn't think straight, see straight. Dream straight. His dreams were crooked and the present was the past, so he must have gone back farther to get here early. The man with the talking bird told him if he went forward, he should go down since he was already pointed in that direction…No. Wait. That wasn't quite right…

He had to concentrate. His didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten there. Here. Backward or forward. Time was on it side. Upside down. Topsy-turvy, tumbling over, folding in half again and again.

A single flame showed him the way back to the here and now—or was it the then and there?—and it was what he'd searched so long for. He'd imagined it would blaze with fierce determination like before, burn passionately at the height of its mortal existence. But its light was faint and ethereal. Smaller than it should be. The time _looked_ right, but she was barely strong enough to hold the dark cold at bay. He needed to know the time. If he was too late, he'd have suffered through the nightmare too many times for naught…

Something must have happened that he hadn't predicted. Couldn't have predicted. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, not this time. Panic gripped him as the flame wavered. Urgency whispered through him, but he wasn't quick enough.

The flame guttered until it was nothing but a dying ember. He helplessly watched as his only chance slowly faded. His soul fractured, his heart wept. He let loose a cry of anguish, a prayer of desperation.

A wish.

Desperately cutting through the darkness on wings of gold and silver, it beat back the cold and enfolded the fading glow before it was completely snuffed.

The universe froze. Time paused for a breath, a heartbeat. Not long.

Long enough.

She flickered weakly back to life.

Relief was the last thing he felt before being yanked back into the horror of his reality.

* * *

**A/N:** The jester quotes "Cherry-Time," by Robert Graves.

**Chapter title:** "Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow—You are not wrong, who deem, That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away, In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem, Is but a dream within a dream…" _A Dream Within a Dream,_ Edgar Allan Poe


	3. In This Slumbery Agitation

**In This Slumbery Agitation**

Harsh white light lanced through Sarah's eyelids and burned into her retinas. She winced and licked dry lips, then cautiously pried one eye open. When the stabbing sensation in her head stopped, she opened the other.

A nondescript room greeted her. She glanced down. White covered her like thick downy—white blankets on a white bed. The loose cotton gown she wore was white with tiny blue polka dots.

This wasn't her bedroom…

A low rumble drew her attention. Her father sat in a large white vinyl chair next to her, his head canted back and mouth open to allow soft snores to pass through. One of his arms rested on Sarah's bed, his fingers curled around hers. The other hand rested on his lap, holding the book he'd, presumably, fallen asleep reading. His long fingers hid most of the cover, but Sarah didn't need to see the title to know what it was.

The worn, red leather binding and the hint of flaking gold script flowing over the spine was enough.

Fear and dread trickled through Sarah. She had thrown that book away last year, a final cleansing of all the things she'd clung to from her childhood. Her stuffed animals and fantasy figurines went to her little brother years ago, but that book…She hadn't been able to give it away. In a fit of pique, she'd tossed it into the trash, not allowing herself to regret it…resisting the urge to dig it back out. It didn't mean anything to her anymore. She'd stopped believing.

So what was it doing here? Wherever here was.

Sarah carefully pulled from her father's loose grasp, pushed the blankets aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She looked around the room again, noting the adjustable bed, the scratchy blankets, lumpy pillows, and the faint beeping of machines with small flashing lights. The white walls and the odor of alcohol, dry paper, and sickness put all the final pieces in place.

A hospital.

Sarah's brow furrowed. The last thing she remembered was being in the house—no. The last thing she remembered was wandering around outside. She had sleepwalked herself right out the front door. After that…

The floor was cool, but not icy like she expected. She braced herself for the jolt of pain as she stood, but it never came. Shouldn't she be sore?

A white robe of rough cotton lay over the foot of the bed. Sarah slid it on, as much to keep out the chill as to save herself from the notorious embarrassment of the hospital gown. Her bare feet were silent against the tiles as she walked toward the door. A glance over her shoulder showed her father still sleeping. Amid all the white, the red book glared like blood pooling in his lap, as though he'd pricked his finger on an enchanted spindle.

Sarah shook the morbid thought away. Holding her robe tightly at her throat, she stepped into the hall and looked in both directions. The walls were a strange grey-blue, the laminate floor soft white flecked with gold. Shadows, like fat daubs of black ink, crowded every doorway, both ends of the hall, and oozed thickly down the hall.

It was…quiet. Eerily empty, as though she and her father were the only two in the building.

_Where is everyone?_

The soft sound of her feet against the floor was all she heard as she walked down the hall. A large cutaway revealed a long desk with a stomach-high counter. The nurses' station. But no one sat behind it, and it was…unnaturally tidy. No stray papers or folders, the computer monitors were blank voids. She couldn't even find a pen. Glancing along the hall again and still finding herself completely alone, Sarah bit her lip, took a step around the desk—

—and squashed furry softness.

Letting out a strangled gasp, Sarah lurched backward, her eyes wide with horror, not wanting to look…unable to stop herself, knowing she'd find…

"Lancelot?" Her whisper grated harshly through the silence.

Carefully, Sarah knelt to pick up the teddy bear with trembling fingers. His fur was badly worn in places, the seam on his nose was ripped slightly, allowing cloud-like puffs of stuffing to peek through. She hugged the bear to her chest, taking comfort in its familiarity despite the fact that…

"You should be with Toby. What are you doing here?"

The hair on her arms stood on end when muffled snickers replied. Blood turned to icy sludge in her veins. The shadows closed in from the corners and spread from underneath the desk like viscous tar. Fear became a hard lump in Sarah's throat she couldn't swallow.

"What…what's going on?" Her question floated out into the empty hallway.

The last thing she expected was an answer—

_"I should think it obvious, princess."_

The trickle of dread in her gut solidified. That voice…

_"You're dreaming."_

…cultured and smooth. Vowels round, words crisp. And more than that. Gravel swathed in black velvet. Promises in the pauses, hints of biting cynicism between syllables…

_"Or possibly going stark-raving mad."_

…oh, God, that _voice_.

Sarah wedged her back into a corner, waiting with her heart punching against her ribs for _him_ to appear with his unforgettable arrogance and perfect sneer. She'd wondered if this day might come, if she'd ever see him again. It was one thing to think about it, though. The sound of his voice, now, brought all those childish uncertainties, which she thought she'd come to terms with long ago, roaring to the surface, and the reality of this imminent meeting scared the shit out of her.

"Where are you?" she whispered.

_"Let me show you."_

A familiar crystal sphere flickered into existence an inch from her nose.

Sarah's heart stopped dead in her chest.

The translucent orb fell with soap bubble lightness to the floor with a faint clink; a sound that had echoed in her dreams for years. The crystal rolled smoothly down the hall, and Sarah…

Sarah stayed _right_ where she was.

Her shaky laugh was a shade away from hysterical. "You must be out of your _mind_ if you think I'm going to follow that…that…_that_."

_"Out of my mind? If you only knew."_ Under the mocking tone, his voice sounded pained. And closer.

Sarah's jaw tightened. A disembodied sigh tickled over her cheek. She swiped it viciously away with her fingertips.

_"I had hoped maybe you weren't quite so stubborn anymore."_

Easing slowly along the wall, Sarah calculated the odds of making a run for it. As she gathered herself to bolt, though, his voice breathed into her ear.

_"Sarah, I'm in dire need of your…of some assistance."_

Her muscles trembled with indecision as she paused, but not because of the words. Underlying the earnest note in his voice, there was a thread of…vulnerability?

No way.

Curious despite herself, she whispered, "Assistance? With what?" even though everything she knew about him said he would _never_ debase himself by asking for help. And why her? They'd known each other for a few handful of hours, never seeing or speaking to each other afterward.

_"Let me show you."_

The orb twinkled brilliantly at the end of the hall. Sarah dug her fingers into Lancelot's matted fur. She shouldn't be fooled into thinking the Goblin King needed anything from her. She didn't even believe in this stuff anymore…

But she followed.

_What are you doing? This is a Bad Idea!_

Ignoring the voice of reason, Sarah followed the crystal as it disappeared through a door at the end of the hall. It was darker on the other side of the door, but the shimmering crystal cast enough light to show a stairwell.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, noting the large number ten painted on a landing wall. She would rather say nothing, since she felt a little silly talking to a disembodied voice, but hearing her own drift through the emptiness was more comforting than the eerie _tink, tink, tink _the crystal made as it defied gravity and hopped up the stairs.

_"To me."_

"If you're taking me to you…then how are you here?"

Amusement flavored the air and settled in the back of her throat when she inhaled. It tasted like peach sparkles. Sarah swallowed with a grimace.

_"Astute as always, princess. I'm taking you to the part of me that needs to remember."_

"What have you forgotten?"

A pause. Then heavily, grimly, _"Everything."_

At the thirteenth floor, the crystal disappeared through the door again. Sarah stepped into a hall thick with shadows. She danced in place for a moment, her bare feet protesting the cold floor.

"It's _freezing_," she muttered, rubbing her arms.

_"You're close."_

The crystal led her down the hall, around corners. Left, right, right, straight, left. The place was a maze.

Sarah didn't miss the irony.

_"Here."_

The crystal disappeared through a metal door, then came back out when Sarah didn't immediately follow.

_"In here, Sarah."_ Impatiently.

Still, she hesitated. She raised up on her tiptoes to peer through the small window. From what little she saw, the room appeared empty.

_"I can assure you, it isn't."_

A soft click, and the door slowly swung inward. Sarah reached out to push it farther open. Stopped. Dread swirled heavily in her stomach, congealed in her gut. She had spent days, weeks, years, too much time fantasizing about seeing him again. Now she had the chance, but she wasn't so sure she really wanted to be here anymore.

Because an eerie darkness peppered the silence, warning her to turn back before it was too late.

"It's just a dream," she whispered. "What could possibly happen?"

A derisive chuckle surrounded her. _"What, indeed?"_

Bottom lip caught between her teeth, Sarah steeled her resolve and pushed against the door. She expected to see a normal hospital room, much like the one she'd so recently left behind. She expected austere walls and an adjustable bed, windows letting sunshine spread over the room and splash the floor with soft shadows.

Instead, the room she entered was long and slender, more like a large walk-in closet. The walls, as white as she imagined, were merely a backdrop for a smudge of black scribbles. Sarah took a slow step forward, her eyes trying to make sense of the smeared writing. She felt if she stared at it long enough, she'd be able to read it…but the _J_s twirled away at the ends with a flourish, the _R_s could have been _N_s, and she wasn't sure what any of the swirls, dots, or slashes over the letters meant.

Sarah pulled her gaze away from the strange script and took in the rest of the room. It was bare except for a small bed with undisturbed, crisp white sheets and…empty restraints.

A muted scratching and guttural murmur came from the corner hidden by the door. The whisper turned into a muffled string of harsh words. Clutching Lancelot to her chest, Sarah took a trembling breath, unsuccessfully tried to quiet the pounding of her heart, and stepped the rest of the way into the room. She didn't want to look; couldn't stop her eyes from drifting toward the voice.

He crouched in the corner, facing away from her so all she saw was the curve of his back and the feathery mess of his hair.

_"Ah, look at the poor bugger. Loony as a coot."_

The scratching halted, and the man in the corner tilted his head to the side as though listening. With a low growl, he resumed writing.

"Is he…you…dangerous?" Sarah asked.

There was no answer. She glanced around for the crystal guide, but found herself quite alone with…

"The Goblin King," she whispered.

Or what was left of him, anyway.

He froze, hand in mid-stroke. After an agonizing moment, he straightened from his slouch and stood. He appeared…smaller than she remembered. Baggy white pajama pants hung loosely around his slender hips, and a plain white shirt draped over hunched shoulders. He turned slowly and the dim fluorescents made him look sallow, made his eyes glitter feverishly. Sarah held her breath as he stared at her—stared _through_ her. She sidled out of the way when he crossed the room, but he brushed by her as though she wasn't there and stared at the wall.

"Certain powers," he muttered.

"What?"

"Certain powers. Her power over…over…overoverover." He placed the piece of charcoal he held against a blank spot and began writing again. "Over now. No power because of certain powers."

"Gob—"

He whirled around, moving faster than her eyes could track, faster than _possible_, and stood before her. He grasped her arms, a mad glint in his eyes…eyes that somehow seemed wrong, and not because of the inelegant smudge of shadows beneath them

"Give me the child!" he shouted, startling Sarah. Then he stopped, furrowed his brow and looked away from her, shaking his head. "No. No, no, no. Wrong line, wrong words. Choose your _right_ words." He whispered furiously to himself, "…dangers…hardships…can never remember…" then looked at Sarah again. Thin fingers dug into the flesh of her arms, and their chill sank through the terrycloth of her robe. "Forget about the baby!" he said triumphantly.

He jerked away from her, spinning in tight, unsteady circles, like the wobbly wheel on a trolley. A crazed giggle broke from his throat. The sound crawled up Sarah's arms to the base of her skull before it danced down her spine in a cold shiver.

"Goblin King."

He didn't look at her, didn't seem to hear her or even remember her presence. He wrapped his arms around himself and continued his teetering circles. She tried again, this time saying his name—a name she'd never forget, even though it had been mentioned to her only a few times, almost offhandedly. Before now, she'd never said it out loud, not even when she told the story to Jake.

"Jareth."

He came to an abrupt standstill, like a marionette whose strings had been pulled taught. Glazed eyes slid toward her, and Sarah swallowed.

"Jareth, what…happened to you?"

"Jareth," he parroted, cocking his head to the side. "Jareth, Jareth, _Jare-eth_." He stared at the floor, murmuring his name, rolling it around in his mouth as though tasting it.

Sarah took a step forward, then stopped, unsure if he would hurt her. "Jareth, it's me…Sarah."

His head snapped up, and she flinched from the mad gleam in his eyes. "Sarah?" Confusion pulled at his brow and laced his voice.

"Yes. Sarah Williams. Do you remember me?" Maybe he didn't. Time didn't move quite the same in his world as it did in hers. For him, maybe it had been centuries since they'd last seen each other. She took another step forward. "Jareth, how…?"

She let the question fade away. She wasn't really sure she wanted to know how this once proud and arrogant king of a fantastical land was reduced to something so…pitiful. He certainly wasn't tall and fearsome like she remembered. His skin, sickly pale and translucent, pulled tightly over sweeping cheekbones. His hair, still as wild as a wolf's mane, fell in lank tangles around his face. He was lackluster and ordinary; ill-fitting adjectives for the imposing man from her memories.

"You poor thing," Sarah whispered, choking back an emotion she never expected to feel for him. But this broken version of the Goblin King was upsetting, which confused her. "I think I'm here to help you remember, but I'm not sure how."

A crystal—perhaps the same that led her to the room—rolled from a dark corner, stopping at the deranged king's feet. Jareth examined the ball from the corner of his eye, like a bird. Slowly, he crouched, tucking his knees against his chest and hunching over them. He ran one long, slender finger over the shimmering curve of the crystal, then snatched his hand away.

Heart in her throat and breath stuck in her lungs, Sarah knelt in front of him. She held the crystal out to him. "Take it."

He looked at her, head canted to the side. "Bad dreams," he mumbled, curling into himself.

Sarah allowed herself to get lost in the shifting rainbows inside the glass and thought of those brief moments she'd spent with the Goblin King. She remembered the maze and the danger. His arrogance and her defiance; the excitement and the challenge. The end. And something else, which she hadn't been fully aware of as a girl of fifteen, but recognized once she became a woman. The crystal in her hand winked at her.

"They might be a little strange, considering the source," she finally said with wry humor. She held the orb out to Jareth again. "But I really think you should take this."

Cautiously, he accepted the crystal. He rolled it awkwardly in his hand before holding it in front of his face with the tips of his fingers.

Then he _threw_ it, up at the ceiling where it exploded into chiming shards. Shards that reflected, refracted, until they filled the room with glittering color and a light so bright Sarah had to shielded her eyes. She tumbled back, sliding across the floor on her butt to avoid the falling glass.

When she blinked away the tears, she looked at…

The Goblin King.

Undoubtedly, now, standing with his spine straight, shoulders back…a condescending tilt to his chin. His skin flushed a healthy shade of ivory and sparkled. He acquired a glow an instinctual part of Sarah immediately labeled _Other_. Even the drab hospital garb had colors weaving through it she was sure were never dreamed of in the original threads.

Jareth held up his piece of charcoal for inspection, then frowned at the smears of black along his fingers and the palms of his hands. He looked over Sarah's head at the wall behind her.

"Interesting."

His voice was everything she remembered; arrogantly smooth, enticingly polished. Except her memory was a tad inaccurate. Because now it also held the seductive softness of cashmere slipping over bare skin.

Goosebumps sprang up on Sarah's arms.

Jareth's attention slid to her, his eyes still a little murky with madness. "And who might you be?"

Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn't even _breathe_, could only watch as his gaze sharpened and his expression became bland.

"You're her, aren't you?" His head tilted to the side. "But not her at all. Little Sarah Williams, all grown up. How did you find me?" he asked, his tone flat, emotionless. Coldly indifferent to her and her answer.

Sarah tightened her hold on Lancelot and stood, feeling better about the situation when the Goblin King wasn't looking down his nose at her. As much. "I don't know." The words and symbols on the walls blurred, then started to writhe around each other. Sarah blinked and shook her head. "I'm…dreaming, I think."

Jareth's nostrils flared, and fury rimmed his lips with white. A humorless chuckle crawled from his throat. "Of course," he muttered. "Of course it's not over. Of course this would be a _bloody dream_!"

He hurled his piece of charcoal at the wall where it shattered into tiny slivers that skittered across the floor. When he ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated sweep, the ends stood up in further disarray. The charcoal dust from his hands streaked through the blond, weaving inky shadows through the moonbeam strands and making him appear almost savage. He pulled a deep breath in through his nose, then his face resumed the indifferently proud mask Sarah remembered so well.

"What is all this?" she asked, grateful her voice didn't come out as a terrified squeak.

Another humorless laugh. "What does it _look_ like, Sarah? I'm _certified_."

"But this isn't real. I mean, it's just…"

"Your dream? A fantastical setting your more than prodigal imagination came up with?" Jareth shook his head and gave a derisive snort. "I can assure you, it's not. Even you, with all your fanciful notions, couldn't have dreamt _this_ up." Another laugh, bitter this time, and perhaps a little…weary. "Amusing to know you'd think I'd be utterly bent at our next meeting."

"I wouldn't…I don't—" She stopped, biting her lower lip.

The watery light gleamed from pearly teeth as Jareth flashed a mocking smile and took a step closer. Sarah's pulse tattooed erratically. "You don't _what_, Sarah?" He bit out her name, as though he'd rather not have it on his tongue. "You don't…think of me?"

"I…I try not to." It was the truth. Barely.

A dark shadow slid over Jareth's face, disappearing quickly under a disdainful scowl. "Interesting," he growled again. "I've thought of you _every day_."

His frightening expression and the snarl in his voice forced Sarah a step back. His words, though, gave her pause, and she pushed away the fear long enough to contemplate him. "You have?"

Jareth jerked at the question. His mouth pulled into a sullen line, as if he'd divulged something he would have rather kept secret. "No, I haven't." The blase mask settled into place and he shrugged. "You can't believe anything I say. I'm crazy, remember?"

That certainly wasn't the reason she couldn't trust him. He was deceitful, and while he'd never outright lied to her, he did bend the truth to suit his whims. But crazy? Sarah glanced at the bed, then avoided getting tangled in the words twisting obscenely on the walls. She let her gaze drift back to the Goblin King, comfortable amid the eeriness, and regarded him carefully.

When she took a step forward, he watched her warily. "I don't think you are."

A sneering smile formed on Jareth's lips. "And what, pray tell, leads you to that _stunning_ conclusion. Could it be you failed to notice the white room with the scribblings of a madman on the walls? Maybe the facility isn't padded to your satisfaction. Or perhaps you missed the _restraints_. If I put on a straitjacket, would that convince you?"

"Maybe."

Drawn forward by inexplicable curiosity, Sarah stood close enough to see the grey-blue of Jareth's eyes. No, not just grey-blue. Dream or not, color classifications fell woefully short when attempting to describe anything about the Goblin King. His eyes were the steel grey of clouds before a summer storm, blue shadows cast on pure white snow. Smoke freckled by sapphires, cobalt oceans swirling with liquid mercury.

"But nothing is ever what it seems. Isn't that what you taught me?"

"Did I?"

Jareth stiffened and his smile fell away when Sarah reached out to him. She didn't touch him—she wouldn't dare—just traced the air above the dark shadow under his left eye, whose pupil was strangely dilated. She heard a quick intake of breath, but didn't know if it came from him or her. Her boldness surprised her, but she dismissed it. This was just a dream, right?

"Mmm," she hummed in answer to his question. "And with the Goblin King, it's doubly so."

Her hand hovered over the sharp angle of his cheek, not quite touching the porcelain skin faintly glittering in the dim light. Jareth's eyes flickered slightly, as though the frost-kissed lashed were too heavy.

"You play a dangerous game, little girl," he said, his voice low and tight.

Sarah smiled wanly and let her hand fall. "I'm not a child anymore."

His gaze lowered, ran the length of her body. It hardly mattered the shapeless robe covered her from beck to mid-calf—she might as well have worn nothing at all.

"So I see."

Between those three words was a wicked promise to fulfill every dark, licentious desire, whether she wanted him to or not. It caught her breath, caught her off guard, got tangled up in a fiery knot inside of her. She shivered at what those spaces offered, and took a step away to lessen the very real temptation to find out. When Jareth chuckled at her retreat, she scowled.

"If this isn't my dream, does that mean it's real?" she asked.

"Of course it's not _real_, silly chit." Sarah stiffened and glared at him, but Jareth ignored her to contemplate the walls. A grimace flickered over his face. "It's actually far more comfortable than where I really am." He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes, and a particularly nasty smile curved his lips. "I suppose I have you to thank for that," he added, but not like he was grateful.

"Me? How could I have done anything? You said this wasn't my dream."

"We add a touch of ourselves to everything." He paused and ran a finger over a twisting pattern, pulling away when it started to glow. The expression on his face became a little distant, and his voice became a little distracted. "Humans, especially, tend to leave traces of themselves on everything they come into contact with." A small sneer curled his lips, as though that fact offended him. "I suspect this place was designed by your subconscious because it knew you wouldn't be able to…cope…with the reality."

"Okay. So where are you really?"

A tight smile. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because, my dear, that would be _cheating_."

Sarah frowned. "Cheating? I didn't know we were playing a game."

A mocking light entered Jareth's eyes. "A game? My, my, what a _wonderful_ idea. Let's play a _game_." He affected a thoughtful expression, clasped his hands behind his back and started pacing. Even in the white, paper-thin pants and too-big shirt, he looked regal. "How about…You return to the Underground on a quest to find me and restore me to what I once was. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Sarah's frown deepened. Restore him to what he once was? What had happened after she'd left his realm? She'd thought finding him in this room, looking like a madman, was an illusion, a trick. Now…she wasn't so sure. She was certain, though, she didn't want to play any more games with him.

"Not really," she said.

"Oh, come, princess. What else do you have to do? I mean, your family…" His mask of arrogant humor slipped briefly, revealing a dark turbulence before he donned it again. "Well, they've always been high on your priorities, I guess. But you've cloistered yourself away, haven't you? Turned into a shadow of yourself." He grinned wickedly. "Since your husband died, anyway."

Sarah sucked in a breath. "How do you know that? How do you know about Jake?" Jareth shrugged at her demand, smiling that annoyingly enigmatic smile. Sarah waited a full minute for him to answer, but gave in when she realized he wouldn't tell her. "Fine. What do I get if I win?"

"Let's see. What would be a worthy prize to convince Sarah Williams to play?"

"You telling me how you know so much about me. Have you been _spying_ on me?"

"Curious, curious, _cat_," Jareth murmured, a small grin tipping the corners of his lips. "I suppose knowing you spared me from an eternity of madness and saved my life isn't enough?"

He slanted a glance at her. Sarah had felt sorry for him when she'd stepped into the room, but now she felt a prick of anger, a sense of violation. How could he know anything about her? Sarah's eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips.

"No? I didn't think so. Well, then, a prize…" He continued to pace, tapping a fingers on his chin as he appeared to contemplate the issue.

A sharp smile cut across his face. A sinister light radiated darkly from his eyes when he looked at Sarah, who knew what a mouse felt like before being snatched up in the deadly talons of an owl.

Thick malevolence swirled through the room. Sarah's gut clenched, then turned to ice as Jareth moved swiftly toward her. She backpedaled away, suppressing a whimper of pain when she slammed to a halt…when she found herself between the wall and the long, uncompromising line of Jareth's body.

Trapped.

Cool breath fanned over the side of her face, stirred the wisps of hair around her ear. Her heart dashed frantically against her sternum, attempting to punch out of her chest—

"I know. Maybe we'll play for _your_ life."

—because the game would be _much_ more serious this time around.

* * *

**Chapter title: **"A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching! In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?" _Macbeth, Act V, scene i_


	4. The Devil You Know

**The Devil You Know**

Over the years, Sarah came to a few startling revelations about her time spent in the Goblin King's realm. A very important one was, though dangerous, the Labyrinth could have been worse. She could have broken an ankle falling into the oubliette. She could have had her neck snapped by the Fieries. And the Escher room? Her adult mind, full of crazy notions about gravity, simply refused to think about it.

She remembered _feeling_ as though she was in imminent danger, but looking back on it she always wondered how far Jareth would have let it go. If she'd truly been hurt, would he have left her to die? It was a question she pondered often as she grew older. She'd hoped to ask him one day. Maybe over a glass of iced tea while sitting in the cool shade of her porch, recounting their brief time together. Or over warm cups of hot chocolate in the snug comfort of her living room.

Needless to say, this wasn't going quite the way Sarah had imagined.

"We play a game. If you can find me, you get to keep breathing."

Jareth voice slid around her, cruel as death. Sarah's blood rushed through her veins, icy with terror. Her body quivered as her brain frantically calculated the likelihood of escaping the dark threat in front of her.

"What do you say, Sarah?" A breathy line traced along her jaw, the length of her throat, lingering over the wild leap of her pulse.

"What happens if I refuse?" she asked, her voice a thready rasp. "Can you kill me in a dream?"

Silence answered her, heavy with sparkles of irritation and a trace of uncertainty, as though he hadn't anticipated her questions, had expected her to cower and give in. As though it never crossed his mind she might say no.

The air shifted against her skin with his smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know?" was his silky reply.

Sarah swallowed. A game to find the Goblin King. It sounded like a twisted version of Hide-and-Seek, and she was certain it wouldn't be a piece of cake this time. Except the last time they'd played…well, she'd won, hadn't she? So, maybe accepting this new challenge was her best choice, given her current position.

"Okay," she breathed. Soft strands of his hair brushed against her face, the heat of his body pressed against her, and wasn't that a new and decidedly distracting addition to an already fascinating Goblin King? "I'll play."

Jareth pulled away quickly, as though he couldn't stand another moment near her. A smile tilted his mouth. "Lovely."

She set terms immediately. "I want you to swear to leave me and mine alone when I win. Forever," she hastily added. Because he knew about _Jake_. How could he possibly know?

"_If_ you win, I will leave you be." He looked at her from the corners of his eyes, watching as she found her breath, found her composure. His smile turned arrogantly male. "If you still so choose."

She ignored the comment and leer. "Me _and_ my loved ones."

"Yes, yes." He waved a hand dismissively.

"Forever."

He frowned. "Your tenacity is not a virtue, you know that, right?"

"_Forever_, Jareth."

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he glowered. "Forever," he finally repeated, grinding the word out between clenched teeth. "Then it's decided. You'll play the game, and if you win, I gain my freedom."

Raven-wing eyebrows pulled together. "Wait…that doesn't make sense." There had to be more to it. The Goblin King wouldn't enter a challenge where he stood to lose if his opponent did as well. Sarah contemplated Jareth, who stood very still and watched her carefully. "If I lose, we both do."

"The stakes are very high."

"I'm not playing against you."

Jareth clapped mockingly. "Very good, princess."

"Who, then?" Jareth's lips twisted slightly, but he didn't answer. Stubborn bastard. Sarah took a deep breath. "Okay. Let me get this straight. If I don't win, all that happens is you stay…wherever. Why should I bother?"

She thought it was a question well worth answering. If she was going to risk anything for him, he should have the decency to persuade her. Or at least threaten her again. Jareth remained silent, though his mouth pulled into a tight line and a dark glint hardened his eyes.

"Then I guess I won't," Sarah said with a shrug. "Find someone else to terrorize."

She turned her back on him, taking a step toward the door before his voice stopped her.

"It's too late, Sarah. You've already agreed. You have to play now." When she faced him again, he looked like he'd swallowed something particularly foul. Then, he smiled harshly. "Besides, think of what you'll win. A life free of magic. Free of me."

She didn't like how his soft tone made her feel guilty. "I'm too old to believe in magic anymore, Goblin King. And I've been free of you since I was fifteen. Maybe I should just let you rot."

Jareth's expression went cold and unreadable. Sarah bit her lip and looked away, a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. That was cruel."

"I expect nothing less of you, princess."

Sarah regarded him. "So, a game. Are you going to give me a clue about where to start? Do I have a time limit? Has it already started? Or will it begin when I wake…up…?" Her lips remained parted as she remembered what had happened to her; wandering around in a fog so thick the driver of the car hadn't seen her until it was too late. "Will I have to search for you in a wheelchair?"

Rays of gold slashed through the turbulent grey-blue of Jareth's eyes. It was his most frightening expression yet. His anger sizzled over Sarah's skin like an impending lightning strike, and she tasted it on the back of her tongue, sharp and metallic. Though it wasn't directed at her, she took a cautious step away.

"You'll have time to heal. The accident…" Jareth's nostrils flared and his jaw clenched tightly, barely holding the anger behind his teeth. "The accident and your injuries are regrettable, but were unforeseen," he finally said, flatly. Dispassionately. "I've done everything I can to ensure you'll be as close to fit when you wake as I can manage, given my current state."

Sarah wasn't sure what to say to that, so she kept her mouth shut. Far be it for her to point out she owed the Goblin King.

"There isn't much time left for us here," Jareth said. "The game will begin in earnest when you're released. After that, you only have thirteen days to find me."

"And if I can't?" He gave her a questioning look. "Last time, my incentive was losing Toby. But what real reason do I have to find _you_ before time runs out?" Jareth closed his eyes, a pained line marring his brow. "You have to give me something more motivating than an insubstantial threat on my life to make me save yours."

"I can't tell you anything." He sounded as if he'd already lost, was already defeated. When he looked at her again, the stark emotion filling his strange eyes made Sarah forget to breathe. "Please, Sarah, you _must_ play."

She simply nodded, unable to speak because she was all tangled up in the intensity of his voice and the helpless expression on his face.

"I'll give you a few things to guide you, in case I can't come to you again. One," he held up a long, slender finger, "never stray from the path."

Sarah's brow furrowed. "What—?"

"_Listen_, Sarah. Two, never accept help not freely given. And, most importantly, don't pick the flowers."

None of what he told her made any sense, but before she could question him, Jareth's chin snapped up, as though he'd been sucker-punched by an invisible fist. He stared beyond the ceiling, and a fierce shudder rippled through him.

"They're coming for me," he whispered. He looked at Sarah, and something in her chest twisted at the expression on his face. It disappeared when he cocked his head to the side, listening. "And for you."

_"Sarah?"_

She glanced at the door.

_"Sarah, can you hear me?"_

That voice…it sounded like…

"Aren't you lucky to have a loved one waiting for you." Jareth's voice held no inflection.

"Who is that?"

Jareth knelt to scoop up the pieces of charcoal scattered like chips of onyx across the floor. "I can't be certain, seeing as how he wasn't old enough to speak when I last saw him, but it sounds suspiciously like your brother."

"Toby!"

Jareth frowned at the black smears on his fingers. "Indeed."

"How do I get to him?"

Jareth's smile was a twisted, derisive slash across his face. "You already know the answer to that," he chided. "Sometimes, the way forward is the way back."

Of course. She drifted toward the door.

_"Sarah?"_

"One more thing, Sarah."

She looked over her shoulder and saw Jareth holding out a hand, offering her…

"What is that?" she asked.

The object resting lightly on the tips of Jareth's fingers solidified into a fragile crystal. His brow furrowed, as though the crystal's presence confused him.

"A gift," he said, his voice strained.

Sarah snorted and rolled her eyes. "My dreams?"

Jareth shook his head, the movement jerky, and gave a mirthless chuckle. "I know better than to offer you those." A twinge of guilt, a pang of regret, went through Sarah. "Take it," he gasped, looking at her with wide, cloudy eyes.

Sarah reached out, reacting more to his tone than any desire to take the crystal. When she touched the cool, smooth surface, the delicate glass dissolved. A gold chain spilled through her fingers, and the horned amulet shaping into existence arced gracefully along her palm. For less than a breath, her fingers brushed against Jareth's. The sparkle surrounding him leeched from his skin, surged up his arm and out the tips of his fingers. It pooled into Sarah's hand, then was absorbed into the amulet, like water into a sponge.

"Power," Jareth murmured.

Sarah looked at him. "What?"

"Certain powers."

His gaze was vacant. Sarah finally realized why his eyes had looked so wrong when she'd first entered the room; his pupils were the same size now, pinpoints of black amid dull, ordinary grey-blue.

"_Her_ power."

"What are you talking about?"

Jareth frowned and shook his head. He shrank into himself, like a snail curling into its shell. "Certain powers. Her power over his powers…"

_"Sarah?"_

She looked toward the door, then glanced at the Goblin King again. He resumed his place in the corner, crouching and muttering to himself as he drew those strange words. Sarah's fingers curled around the necklace. With a final look at the rambling man, so different from the domineering villain she remembered, she walked out of the room.

* * *

**Chapter title:** "Better the devil you know than the devil you don't."_ proverb/idiom_


	5. I Keep Forgetting

**I Keep Forgetting**

_Shiny glass orbs…Choking shadows…Sunlight streaked with ink…A beautiful mouth stretched in a condescending smile and an urgent plea…_

It was all that remained of the dream when Sarah woke up.

The first thing she became aware of was the dull white heat gnawing through her body, crawling up her neck and blossoming behind her temples.

"Sarah?"

She opened her eyes and squinted into the dim light. Into a crystal blue gaze. The color was familiar.

_"It's a crystal, nothing more…"_

"Sar, are you awake?"

The ache condensed behind her eyes as her forehead wrinkled. She tried to focus on the person above her, but foggy images, like half-forgotten memories, kept getting in the way.

_"…it will show you your dreams."_

_My dreams…_

There was a thought at the edge of the haze wrapping around her brain, and she desperately needed to remember what it was.

_"You have thirteen days…"_

"Thirteen days," she croaked.

"Dad! She's awake! I _told_ you!"

The voice, loudly excited, sliced through the room, its adolescent timber holding the promise of a teenage tenor in the next few years. Sarah winced into the lumpy mass of pillows under her head.

"Hush, Toby, not so loud."

"Sorry, Mom."

"Sarah, honey?" Her eyes reluctantly focused on a new face, this one lined with worry, and she managed a weak smile for her father. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a car," she rasped.

Her father chuckled softly, but it didn't erase the dark shadow of concern in his eyes. "Can I get you anything?"

"Water?" He left her side long enough to fill a small plastic cup. When he tried to hold it for her, Sarah waved him away.

"Sar, you look awful."

Sarah looked over the rim of her cup and into the blue eyes staring at her from the end of the bed. She gave her brother a wryly affectionate smile; leave it to him to give it to her in the most straightforward manner.

"Thanks, Tobes," she said. "I bet all the girls love you."

Toby rolled his eyes. "Like I care about _girls_."

"One day you will," a woman said, softly.

Sarah tilted her chin down to peer at the blonde woman sitting in the chair across the room. Her stepmother looked as neat and put together as always. Her lightly painted lips stretched into a smile full of concern as she stood and crossed the room. "You scared us," Karen said, placing a cool hand on Sarah's cheek. "What were you doing out in the middle of the night?"

"Sleepwalking," Sarah said, quietly.

"Sarah—"

"Not now, Robert. She's a big girl and can take care of herself." Karen's smile widened to soften her words. Sarah squeezed her hand gratefully. "Why don't you and Toby see if you can rummage up some coffee and soda?"

Robert hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave his daughter, but Karen's gentle cajoling pushed him and Toby out the door. When they were gone, Karen settled into the large vinyl chair next to Sarah. "He always does better in these situations when he has something to occupy his mind."

"Jake was like that, too," Sarah said, softly. But not, she suddenly realized, painfully. Consternation flashed over her face as she wondered about that. When had the edges of the wound started to heal?

Karen patted her hand. "It doesn't hurt as much now, does it? Thinking about him, talking about him?"

"No, but…isn't that wrong?" Sarah asked.

"You can't mourn forever. You have to keep moving forward." Karen brushed a stray wisp of dark hair from Sarah's forehead. "And Jake wouldn't want you to stop living."

She had said the same thing to Sarah a year ago, but the grief-stricken woman hadn't been in the right state of mind to really hear. The hole in her chest had still been raw and bleeding, and no one could convince her the feeling would ever diminish.

"What's this, dear?"

Karen ran her finger over the gold chain around Sarah's neck. Sarah frowned and tugged it out from under her thin gown. "I have no idea," she said, turning it around to inspect it.

"It looks very old," Karen observed. She reached out to touch the strange pendant, then pulled away. "I'm surprised they didn't take it off when you were admitted."

Sarah weighed the horned amulet in her hand. "I don't even think it's mine." Except it seemed familiar, in the way a childhood toy brought hazy recollections of having once been admired.

Carefully slipping the chain from around Sarah, Karen placed it on the bedside table. "We'll ask one of the nurses about it." She looked around the room, as though surprised they were still alone, then chuckled. "I know there are drink machines around the corner. I think your father has gotten lost."

"He has a horrible sense of direction," Sarah said, grinning faintly.

When Karen left in search of her husband and son, Sarah thought about their conversation. Her stepmother was right; Jake wouldn't have wanted Sarah to put her life on hold because he was gone. In fact, if it was possible, he might have come back from the dead to chide her about how she lived for the past year.

_"You've cloistered yourself away, haven't you? Turned into a shadow of yourself…"_

Sarah frowned, not remembering who had said that to her. The smooth, mocking tone lingered just out of reach, like a word on the tip of her tongue.

When the doctor came in later that day, he ran his fingers gently over her ribs, felt her head, then looked perplexed as he rotated her wrist. "Does this hurt?" he asked.

Sarah shook her head. "Is it supposed to?"

"Yes," he said, bluntly. "At least for a few more weeks. Take a deep breath for me. Any pain?" Sarah shook her head again, and the doctor let out a breath himself. "Very peculiar."

"What? What's wrong?" Sarah's father asked, worry creasing his face.

The doctor stood, peeling the latex gloves from his hands and tossing them in a biohazard bin. "Aside from the bruises and scrapes? Nothing. If I hadn't seen the x-rays from when you were admitted, I would have thought you'd only taken a bad fall." He stared at Sarah, as though she had somehow tricked him. "You had several broken ribs, a severe concussion, and a sprained wrist."

Sarah nodded, wide-eyed.

"And now…you don't," the doctor said.

"It's a miracle?" Sarah offered with a weak smile.

The doctor gave her a queer look. "I'd like to keep you here another day or so, for observation."

Sarah was bedridden for two more days. Toby brought his PSP and slouched in one of the chairs next to her, content to absently talk about the game and the characters' special abilities and attacks. He brought her reading material, which mostly consisted of his _DragonDrive_ mangas. On the second day, he commented how her face didn't look so much like she'd been beaten up. Sarah stuck her tongue out at him, which made their father chuckle, then she sighed and shifted restlessly.

She was supposed to be doing something. She wasn't sure what, exactly, but knew it wasn't laying around like a white lump in a hospital.

After another loud sigh, her father glanced at her over the rim of his glasses. "The nurse said you could get out of bed and move around," he reminded her. "How about we go for a walk?"

Sarah eagerly swung her legs from under the blankets. Anything beat staring up at the plain white ceiling. Tightening her robe, she took her father's arm and shuffled from the room. They walked down the hall in silence for awhile, Sarah concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other in an effort to ignore the stench of sickness under the sterile hospital scent. She didn't feel as weak as she thought she would. There would be no marathons anywhere in her near future, but she only felt a little battered instead of broken.

"You look much better than when we first arrived," Sarah's father eventually commented, echoing her thoughts. "You gave us quite a scare."

Sarah squeezed his arm apologetically. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

"I worry, you know. I can't imagine how hard it's been for you."

Sarah kept the hot sting of tears contained to her eyes. It _had_ been hard. But it was getting easier. "I'm okay. I mean, except for feeling like one big bruise."

Her father peered at her, and satisfied with what he saw, nodded. They continued walking until Sarah started to feel a little queasy from the cloying smell. "Can we go outside? I need some fresh air and sunlight."

"Well, they told me not to let you wander too far…but maybe we can sneak out."

Robert glanced around, then gave her a conspiratorial wink. Sarah smiled and stepped into the elevator ahead of him. As his hand fell away from the brightly lit _L_, her gaze ran down the sequence of numbers; _ten, eleven, twelve, fourteen, fifteen_…

"It goes from twelve to fourteen," she said. Her father gave her a questioning look, and Sarah flicked her fingers toward the buttons.

"They don't usually have a thirteenth floor in buildings," he said. "Bad luck number, you know."

_An _important_ number,_ a voice inside her whispered.

"That doesn't make any sense," Sarah said. "I mean, the fourteenth floor would be the thirteenth…right?"

"I guess so."

"What's there?"

A worried frown crease Robert's forehead at the urgency in her voice. "I have no idea. Hey, kiddo—"

Unsure why it was suddenly so important to know, Sarah punched the button so hard she was mildly surprised the plastic didn't crack.

"Sarah, what are you—?"

The digital numbers flicked to fourteen. The lift came to a ponderous stop, and the shiny chrome doors opened with a soft thunk. Sarah stepped out.

And into chaos.

"Miss? What are you doing here?"

Loud wails of agony ricocheted from the walls, nearly drowned out by the pulsing alarm. Blue lights flashed on the walls, people with grim expressions ran down the hall. The broad man in front of her shifted his weight, and Sarah's eyes were wide as she looked at him.

"Miss, you shouldn't be here."

"Sarah, c'mon, honey," her father said. "We're supposed to be getting exercise."

The orderly remained where he was, watching as she and her father entered the elevator. Before the doors slid shut, Sarah's hand darted out, jolting them back open.

"What floor is this?" she asked the orderly, her voice barely audible over the pandemonium.

"Fourteenth," he said. "Psych ward."

_"Amusing to know you'd think I'd be utterly bent…"_

Memory crashed so hard through Sarah, she stumbled back. The hard wall of the elevator slammed against her sore body, and she grabbed blindly for the support rail to keep herself upright as the dream surged up around her.

_"Let's play a game."_

He crouched in the corner, straightened and stood.

_"Curious, curious _cat_…maybe we'll play for _your_ life."_

The Goblin King.

_"Return to the Underground and restore me to what I once was."_

What was left of him, anyway.

_"One more thing, Sarah…A gift…"_

* * *

**Chapter title: **"I keep forgetting you don't love me no more/ I keep forgetting you don't want me no more/ I keep forgetting that you told me that you/ Didn't want me around any more./ But these stupid old feet/ Just head for your street/ Like they've done so many times before./ And this stubborn old fist/ On the end of my wrist/ Keeps a knocking on your front door."_ I Keep Forgetting, _David Bowie


	6. Don't Be Afraid of the Man in the Room

**Don't Be Afraid of the Man in the Room**

Sarah gaze wearily up at the ceiling. Since her fainting spell in the elevator—it was what her father told everyone, including himself, had happened—she wasn't allowed to move around much. Now that she remembered, the inability to go anywhere or do anything made her crabby and snappish. Karen laid a hand on her husband's arm when Sarah scowled at him that morning, telling him to let his daughter be.

"She's feeling something other than grief. Let her feel it," Karen said, guiding Robert from the room.

After they left, Sarah silently watched her brother, who was concentrating on the tiny screen in front of him. When the muted sounds coming from his game started to annoy her, she asked, "How's school going, Tobes?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug. "Fine."

"What's your favorite subject? And don't say lunch."

He frowned, as though she'd taken his answer, then shrugged again. "History, I guess. I forgot to tell you thanks for getting me out of school."

"Anything for you, little bro," Sarah said with a wry laugh. She shifted restlessly, and her gaze fell on the amulet laying on the table next to her. "Toby, is there a mirror in here?"

He glanced around the room. "I don't see one."

"Could you look?" When a put-upon expression started to twist his mouth, Sarah gave him a mock pout. "Please?"

He checked in the dresser drawers and the tiny closet by the door. "There's one in the bathroom, but it's attached to the wall."

"Anything will do," Sarah said, sitting up. She swallowed an itch in the back of her throat. "Anything shiny enough to see a reflection."

Toby rummaged around in a cabinet across the room, then a satisfied noise came from him as he triumphantly presented her with a large chrome object. Sarah stared at it for a moment before a broken chuckle burbled through her lips.

Imagine, calling the denizens of the Labyrinth from the gleaming surface of a bedpan.

Sarah held it up, seeing her warped grin. Taking a deep breath to settle herself, she attempted to see past her reflection. "Hoggle, I need you," she whispered.

The startled jerk of Toby didn't go unnoticed by her, but she ignored it and concentrated on how desperate she was to see the dwarf. When the shiny surface remained blank, showing only her wavy frown, she tried again.

"Didymus, I need you."

Again, no matter how hard she tried to push the desire through whatever separated their worlds, the chrome showed nothing but her distorted frustration.

"Ludo, I need you."

Nothing.

With a sigh, Sarah let the bedpan fall to her lap and her head back into the pillows. She closed her eyes. They couldn't answer sometimes, she knew, but it was disappointing when she especially needed them.

"Sarah?"

Her head snapped up, her eyes flying immediately to the bedpan, searching for a bumpy face, a slim white snout, or large drooping ears.

But it wasn't a dwarf, fox, or red beast calling her name; it was a boy with eyes like blue crystal, perched on the bed by her feet.

"Those names you said…" Toby began when he saw he had her attention. "Who are they?"

Sarah smiled, but the expression was strained. "Just some old friends."

"Has it…has it been a long time since you've talked to them?"

"Yes." Sarah pressed her lips together, holding back the prick of tears. "Too long."

When Jake died, when she stopped believing in the magic, she stopped looking beyond the reflections. She stopped calling out to the three beings who were stalwart companions in a troubling place.

Sarah sniffled, sighed, and wiped an errant tear away. "I think they might have forgotten me," she finally said.

Toby considered her. The bedpan. His fingers nervously plucked at a thread on her blanket. "Maybe they haven't. Maybe they just can't hear you."

Sarah's gaze lingered on her brother. When he averted his eyes, she levered herself up, wincing as the movement pulled abused muscles, and leaned forward. "Toby, do you recognize those names?"

He kept his gaze stubbornly on the blanket and shrugged.

"It's very important. Do you know who they are?"

Another shrug, then he smiled, an expression too derisive for a boy his age. "It's not like you'd believe me, anyway."

Sarah's laugh matched his smile, and she leaned back into her pillows. "You might be surprised what I believe. Do you remember, when you were little, the bedtime story I used to tell you?"

"The one about the gob—" Toby looked around, as though making sure they were alone. "Goblins," he whispered.

A small crease formed between Sarah's eyebrows. His behavior was curious. "And about their king, who stole children from their beds."

"He didn't _steal_ them, Sar," Toby said, mouth twisting with dismay. "He took them from people who didn't want them."

So he _had_ been listening. "You're right. I must have forgotten how the story goes."

"I remember," Toby said, puffing his chest out slightly with pride.

"Mmm." Sleep nibbled at the edge of Sarah's conscious. "Do you? Tell it to me."

Toby curled up against her bent legs and folding his arms on top of her knees. He rested his chin on his arms so he could look at her. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young girl who was spoilt and wanted everything for herself."

Sarah's eyes flickered open. "I don't remember that."

Her brother smiled faintly. "Of course not."

His voice changed, became a little rougher, a little more…cultured…

"But that's how the story really went, isn't it? The beautiful princess who wanted an adventure, who wanted something _more_."

Alarm shot through Sarah, ripping through the drowsy haze. The room faded as she focused on the boy at her feet. He pushed away from her, leaned back on his hands, and crossed his legs at the ankles. His head tilted to the side, and he regarded her slyly.

"Tell me, Sarah, how did it _taste_?" he whispered, drawing the _S_ out in a sinful way. "Sweet and delightful? Did it satisfy your palette? Quench your thirst? Or did it leave you…wanting?"

Sarah jerked her legs away and clutched her knees to her chest. "Goblin King?" she whispered.

The twelve year-old boy's mouth twisted with dismay as he sat up. Without warning, or so much as a twinkle, he lengthened, widened. Mousy brown hair faded to sunlit locks feathered around an angular face and piercing eyes. His black tee loosened into a silky shirt, open at the neck, and his jeans smoothed into black leather tucked into knee-high boots.

"You're not very fun to play with in this time," Jareth complained. "Maybe we should have chosen another."

Sarah's fingers dug into her legs as Jareth rose gracefully from the bed and circled around the room. He ran a gloved finger over the windowsill and sniffed with approval at the lack of dust. There was something in his comment she wanted to question, but her mind had to get a few other things straight, first.

"I'm dreaming again." When had it started? Was that why she couldn't reach her friends?

"Although, you've always had that annoying habit of stating the obvious," Jareth said.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm checking on you, my dear. Seeing how your recovery is coming along."

"The doctor is baffled."

Jareth smirked as he peered out the window, then a strange noise came from him. "Well, at least your view is better than mine."

"You said, before, I created a more comfortable place for you. What did you mean?"

Jareth's gaze wandered over the room before he answered. "My place of confinement is much smaller. Much…danker."

"Like a cell?" she asked, softly.

A falsely bright smile sprang to his lips; a mocking reward for her cleverness. "That's exactly what it is."

"How long…?" Sarah swallowed an emotion she didn't want to feel. "How long have you been there?"

Pushing brusquely from the window, Jareth stalked across the room. "Long enough. The good news is, it hasn't killed me. Not yet, anyway."

"Let me wake up," she said, her voice catching on that damn emotion again.

Jareth turned curious eyes on her. Sarah shoved the blankets from her lap and slid out of bed, wincing when her muscles protested. For a dream, this felt too realistic. She reached for the railing on the bed when her legs momentarily refused to take her weight. Actually, this was worse than reality; yesterday, she'd walked around fine, so why did she feel weaker now?

"Sarah, get back into bed." It was just shy of being a command.

"No." She didn't quite catch the expression flashing over Jareth's face—was that annoyance or surprise? She dismissed it for the more important problem at hand. "You have to let me wake up."

Leaning against the cabinet, Jareth crossed his arms and watched her take an unsteady step. "I'm not the one who dictates your sleep cycle, princess," he said with infuriating apathy.

She frowned at her legs, hoping to galvanize them into acting the way they should. "Then how do I wake up?"

"Forward is backward, backward is forward."

Sarah shifted her glare to him. "Enough with the goddamn riddles. Give me a straight answer."

Jareth sighed and raised a gloved finger to scratch the side of his nose. "You should be laying down, Sarah. Get back into bed."

"It's a dream. I'm already asleep."

"But not a _restful_ sleep," he said. He tilted his head to the side as she took another wobbly step. "Why are you being so stubborn?"

"At least that's _all_ I am. You, on the other hand, are deliberately deceitful." She aimed an accusing finger at him, taking another step, intending to poke him in the chest with the stiff appendage to emphasize her point. "Not to mention completely unhelpful and untrust—"

Deciding it was finished with this business of acting like a proper joint, her left knee gave out beneath her. Before she crumpled to the floor, strong arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her upright as though she was nothing more than an oddly shaped feather pillow.

"Obstinate girl," Jareth muttered. "Why won't you listen to me?"

"I have to wake up," Sarah said, grateful her voice remained steady.

Because being so close to him, pressed so firmly against the long, tight line of his body, heated her blood in a way she hadn't expected to happen again after losing Jake. A flush spread over her cheeks, and she tilted her chin down so Jareth wouldn't see it.

Not that staring at the delicate sweep of his collarbones helped.

"Why?" Jareth asked, voice full of honest curiosity.

"Because no one deserves what's happening to you," she whispered.

"You don't know what's happening to me."

"I can imagine."

A cynical pause.

"Ah, yes. Your _imagination_," Jareth drawled, biting amusement in his tone. "And what has Sarah Williams' imagination conjured up this time?" He leaned forward, lips almost touching her cheek, and didn't wait for her answer. "Trust me, little girl, even _your_ imagination can't begin to fathom the things happening to me."

Sarah looked directly into his eyes, ignoring how close their faces were; how close _everything_ was. Old fears and frustrations twisted with this new version of Jareth, and it muddled the image of him she retained from childhood. She wasn't sure how she felt about him yet, but if she was his chance at freedom, she was certain of one thing.

"I'm not going to lay around in a damn hospital bed while you rot in some cell. I won't let you die."

Her conviction shocked Jareth; she knew by the way the white-blond lashes rimming his eyes quivered, the startled look there then gone in an instant.

"Always so resolute," Jareth said. He contemplated her, eyes flickering to her lips. "Perhaps we were right, after all."

She didn't ask what he meant by that. At the moment, she was entirely too concerned with getting air into her lungs. Jareth held her tightly, supporting her weight against his front…to ensure she didn't fall again, logic insisted.

But her body told her something altogether different. She was acutely aware of his arms around her. One hand had slipped through the opening in the back of her hospital gown and cool leather brushed along the side of her breast. His other arm held her securely around her waist, supple leather curling around the opposite hip. Her hands clutched his biceps, her fingers gripping the tight, hard muscle beneath the soft material of his shirt.

And flush against him as she was, her thin gown and his perfectly fitted pants left no room to mistake what pressed so snuggle into the hollow of her hip.

The heat suffusing her cheeks spread like wildfire down her neck, sizzled through her and electrified every nerve-ending. Sarah drew in a sharp breath, and Jareth focused unerringly on her mouth. His expression didn't change except for his eyes, which flashed a stormy shade of grey-blue. His right pupil flared until it was the same size as the left, turning both into black pools edged only by the merest sliver of mercurial color.

The air thickened. Every breath pressed her chest firmly against his. His head slowly dropped, and her fingers curled into his arms. She could practically taste him already; sweet and heady, brown sugar and nutmeg, fresh summer rain, crisp winter wind. Tantalizing and mouth-watering.

Jareth's arm tightened around her waist, holding her more securely. Warm leather slid a shivery line over her back as he pulled his other arm away. He idly traced the ridge of her collarbone, the dips between tendons on her neck.

"You're not wearing the necklace I gave you," he said softly, the words breathing over her cheek.

Confusion furrowed her brow; what did jewelry have to do with anything?

The shadows in the room gathered, oozed toward her bare feet. A sinister tang flavored the air. Dark danger flitted through Jareth's eyes, the silhouette of a predator below the deceptively calm surface.

Sarah froze.

Jareth's long fingers curled around her throat.

Heart slamming against her chest, Sarah stared wide-eyed at him. Oh, God, he was going to choke her to death. It didn't matter this was a dream. His fingers constricted around her windpipe, and she desperately gasped for air.

"I, I don't remember." Her hand sought for the necklace even though she knew it wasn't there. "I took it off because I couldn't remember."

Fire blazed a ring around her neck. Cool metal rested against her chest. Sarah's chin jerked down a fraction to look, but Jareth's fingers still encircled her throat. All she could do was stare at him as the blood pulsated loudly in her ears.

"It wasn't an idle gift, Sarah." Tight earnestness laced his words. "You _must_ keep better track of it."

The tone of his voice made her think he didn't want to kill her—at least, not yet. So she relaxed in his hold, even lifted her chin slightly. Defiantly.

A faint smile lifted one side of his perfectly shaped mouth, one of wry amusement…and perhaps grudging approval.

"Good girl," he murmured.

He swept her easily up into his arms, then carried her across the room to deposit her gently back in bed. Sarah watched him, confused and still a little frightened, as he tucked the blankets around her. Wisps of blond hair tickled her cheek when he hovered over her, studying her for a long, intense moment. An unreadable light swam near the surface of his gaze, a golden flash that disappeared when he pulled away and became engrossed with adjusting his gloves. He dropped gracefully into the chair next to her, propped his feet up on the edge of the bed and crossed his ankles.

"How about a bedtime story?"

The air thinned, the shadows retreated. Sarah breathed a little easier at being in the presence of a reluctantly indulgent Goblin King.

"Once upon a time, there was a young girl. She was beautiful and willful, and perhaps a tad bit selfish…"

Sarah smiled faintly and nestled deeper under the covers. Her eyes grew heavy, but she wanted to fight against sleep, didn't want to leave this dream.

"…but what no one knew was that the Goblin King had given the girl certain powers…"

His voice, that velvety voice with its underlying growl, wove magic into his words; a magic Sarah missed more than she thought possible.

"…and a gift. Not her dreams, as she had expected, but a talisman only she could use to save him…"

_Oh, crap…He would tell me the important stuff at the end…_

* * *

**Chapter Title:** "…Let the wind blow through your hair, be nice to the big blue sea/ Don't be afraid of the man in the moon, because it's only me/ I shall always watch you until my love runs dry…"_ Love You Till Tuesday, _David Bowie (not exactly the same, I know :))


	7. The Other Side of a Mirror

The Other Side of a Mirror

Sarah scowled.

Her reflection in the heavily gilded mirror hanging on her bedroom wall scowled back.

This morning, she'd been released from the hospital, the doctor saying there wasn't any reason for her to stay. As she was wheeled out, she had felt the man's eyes on her; had looked back to find him watching her with worry and no small amount of disbelief. She would have liked to reassure him this hadn't been a hoax or a miracle, but how, exactly, did one explain their Goblin King?

Only a few marks from her accident remained. Sarah traced the yellowed bruise on her right arm, gingerly brushed the one feathering darkly over her left cheekbone. Pumpkins and glass shoes may not have been his forte, but she'd take mended bones over squash and impractical footwear any day.

Another frown puckered her brow as she continued looking in the mirror. "Where are you guys?" she muttered.

She was certain there hadn't been an expiration date on their offer, but the cool surface of the mirror showed only her and her room. With a frustrated sigh, Sarah turned away and slumped down onto the edge of her bed. How was she supposed to search for Jareth if she didn't know where to begin? Was he trapped somewhere in her world? Had he somehow become stuck in the Labyrinth?

Sarah shook her head at that thought. No way. There was no way the Goblin King could accidentally bog himself or end up turned around and trapped in an oubliette in his own backyard.

So that left...where? And how the hell was she supposed to get there whenever she figured out where _there_ was?

Taking a deep breath, Sarah contemplated her mirror again. It would be nice to be given a clue about how to figure this out—she wasn't asking for much, just to be pointed in the right direction. And it would be even better if she could get her _stupid mirror_ to act as it should.

A wry smile touched her mouth; she may be the only person in the world upset about a mirror that wouldn't show her anything other than her reflection. She flopped back onto her bed, her arms flung out to either side, and glared. "Mirror, mirror on the wall," she muttered at the white ceiling. Funny, she'd never noticed that small crack spidering out of the corner...

Gold sparkles touched the edges of her vision and the medallion resting snugly between her breasts warmed until it was uncomfortable. Pulling it from beneath her shirt, Sarah dangled it over her face.

She sat bolt upright with a soft gasp. The amulet twirled lazily at the end of the chain and _glowed_. Hesitantly, Sarah brushed her fingers over the bright metal. Heat jolted up her arm and she snatched her hand back with a hiss. She wrung her hand until the pain faded, then inspected her fingers for burns—only to find them covered in a thin layer of liquid gold. She turned her hand over, wiggled her fingers. Wiping them across the thigh of her jeans did nothing to remove the shine. It did make the dark cotton threads shimmer, though.

"Interesting," she murmured. She looked up.

And forgot all about her Midas touch.

Mercurial silver swirled on the surface of the mirror, making it look like a calm pond reflecting moonlight. Sarah pushed up from her bed and crossed the room. As she neared, the eddying mirror calmed and stilled. And she saw, not her bedroom, but a dusty red hill with skeletal trees blowing in a silent wind.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me." After all that, she just needed to repeat some silly words from a fairytale?

Sarah spent a few minutes arguing with herself about whether or not touching the mirror without knowing anything about how it worked was a good idea. In the end, she screwed her face up with determination, reached out and ran her glowing fingers over the surface.

A soft gasp of surprise passed through her lips when her hand sank through.

"Or maybe I'm not really surprised," she murmured with a wry grin.

She took a step back and let her hand fall to her side. The surface of the mirror rippled once more then went still. The amulet cooled against her skin, the glow on her fingers dimmed and faded away.

This was her way to wherever Jareth was; it had to be.

It took her three days to prepare. She could practically hear every second tick away. And there was the matter of her family—more specifically, her father, reluctant to leave her alone again.

But, "Robert, you have to let her work through this on her own terms," Karen insisted, while Sarah assured him she was fine. "I know," she said, "it's my answer to everything. But I really am okay, Dad."

And, "I'll call you in the evenings," her dad told her.

Sarah just nodded and hugged them goodbye, not sure how to explain she'd soon be traveling out of her coverage area.

As soon as the house was clear of concerned family, Sarah pulled two large backpacks from the hall closet. Jake had been fond of camping and exuberantly spent money on gear for them to trek through the great unknowns.

_Bet you never thought those unknowns would include another world, did you, Jake?_ Sarah thought with a faint smile as she poured the the bags' contents out on the living room floor.

She packed practical things—crackers, beef jerky, extra socks and a razor. She pulled the emergency thermal blanket from the trunk of her car; found the small hunting knife, flint, and a first aid kit in Jake's backpack. And somewhere, there was...

_Ah ha!_

Sarah wasn't even sure if the flashlight would work. She'd read enough fantasy novel to wonder if modern gadgets could function in other worlds. She packed it anyway, just in case.

Every night, before she went to bed, she stood in front of the mirror. She didn't have to say anything again; the amulet seemed to know what she wanted and warmed against her skin. The first night she looked into it, the mirror rippled and showed her a vast landscape under a sliver of moon."

"This could be a problem," she murmured, leaning closer to the mirror, a small frown touching her lips. She wasn't looking at the dessicated expanse of the Labyrinth; this place was covered with craggy mountains. A wild wind silently whipped ribbons of snow through the air.

_Might need to pack more socks,_ she thought.

The next day, she shut up the house and watered the garden one last time. After dinner, she checked the mirror again. And, again, she was shown a place she didn't recognize.

"How do I get you to take me where I want to go?" she wondered. She chewed on her bottom lip as she eyed the slippery surface. Maybe, by morning, it would cycle back to the Labyrinth.

But when the sun sparkled through her windows the next morning, she was shown yet another unfamiliar landscape. Sarah stood uncertainly in front of the mirror, her backpack weighing at her shoulders. She wasn't sure walking into a strange place was the wisest decision. And yet...

"You've already wasted enough time, Williams," she told herself.

She stuck her hand through, first, then close her eyes as she took a step forward. Held her breath as she stepped through. The reflective surface slipped wetly along her skin, as though she was walking through a luke-warm waterfall. She took another step. Another. She was moving forward, but it felt like she was standing in place. And it seemed like hours since she taken a breath.

Without warning, Sarah ran into a thin membrane of resistance. She pushed forward.

And stumbled out the other side of the mirror.

Warm sunshine and sweet bird calls greeted her. She was in a shallow valley between lush green hills. White and yellow flowers sprinkled the thick grass, and the fragrant scent riding the balmy breeze reminded her of roses. When she turned around, she only saw a faint, glittery outline of her mirror before it skirled away in a playful gust of wind.

_Well, there goes my way back,_ she thought with a frown. She turned the expression on the vibrant valley. It was beautiful and peaceful, but it wasn't a place she recognized.

"Which way?" she wondered.

One direction looked as good as the other. With a whimsical smile, Sarah closed her eyes, held her arms out and spun around until she was dizzy. When she stopped, and could walk without falling over, she headed in the direction she faced. The hike up the hill was pleasant and, if she hadn't just stepped through her bedroom mirror to get here, she might have thought she was in one of the parks near her house. It was amazing, she mused, how everything looked so normal.

Although...the grass seemed to cushion her steps more than she was used to, like she was walking on cotton...and the blossoms dotting the rich green glimmered like tiny jewels. She paused to examine a buttercup-yellow flower, ran a curious finger over the fern-like leaves. Pulled back when they curled inward and the plant trembled. A tinkling sound wafted up around her and Sarah blinked.

Surely the flower hadn't just...giggled?

_"You know _your_ problem? You take too many things for granted..."_

Placing her feet with more care, Sarah continued up the slope without squashing any of the flowers. She crested the hill—

And found a castle nestled in the valley below.

But it wasn't the castle she was looking for. This castle was pristine and beautiful, a sparkle of diamond brilliance among the rolling green surrounding it. Crystal fingers reached up to the sky like votaries offering petitions to the gods. The sun caressed its planes like a lover, bounced cheerfully from its angles.

Being in a different world again made nostalgia well up in Sarah. She looked down at her feet and smiled wryly.

"You know the drill," she murmured to her shoes. Boots, actually. She wasn't making the mistake of tromping through...wherever she was...in a pair of loafers that would start giving her blisters after a few hours.

The temperature dropped slightly the farther she descended into the valley. Sarah actually found herself smiling as small creatures—which her mind fervently assumed were rabbits even though her eyes insisted they were the wrong size and shape—skittered from her path. The sweet, loamy breeze held an underlying mineral tang from the river and, as she neared the castle, started to carry the tenuous thread of a melody. The music dipped and shifted with the wind, sparkled in time with the movement of the river. She was listening so intently to the spiraling sound, she didn't realize the castle loomed over her until she stepped into its cool shade.

Sarah paused to adjust her backpack, eyeing the castle. It seemed inviting enough, she supposed. She saw what must be the entrance and started toward it, only to hesitate again when she stood in front of the door. The wood was as white as ash tree bark and varnished until it gleamed as brightly as the crystal surrounding it.

Before Sarah could find a bell, knocker, or rap her knuckles against the door, it swung open. She took a startled step back.

"Welcome!" a small voice said. The door opened a little wider and Sarah peered inside. "Please, come in and be welcome, traveler."

The being that greeted her stood even with her knees. It had a small, round head, roughly the same shape and color as a potato. Beady eyes stared unblinkingly up at her and the slash of its mouth pulled into, what looked like, a warm smile. At least, Sarah hoped it was.

"Um, hello," Sarah said, shifting uncertainly. "I'm here—"

"To see the king and queen, of course," the little potato-man interrupted, his voice soft. "Please, follow me."

Before Sarah could say anything more, he turned away and shuffled into the castle. She paused on the threshold. _I suppose it's rude to stand in the doorway,_ she thought. With a sigh, she followed the potato-man down the hall.

There wasn't a set of massive doors leading to the throne room; the hallway simply opened up into an enormous space. The translucent crystal ceiling vaulted up to a dizzying height and allowed for natural illumination. Decorative elements in the room were carved from the palest stone, only adding to the nearly blinding white. Long swaths of blue and green fabric were bunched and gathered around columns framing arching doorways. The light picked up hints of something woven within the fabric and made it shimmer like ribbons of cool water spilling down the walls.

The floor was decorated with inlaid azure stone. The blue was arranged in large patterns of circles inside triangles, triangles inside circles. All the lines radiated from the dais, where two large, ornately carved thrones nearly swallowed the tiny forms of the figures sitting in them.

Sarah's rubber soles echoed from the ceiling and walls as she slowly made her way across the room. As she neared, she noticed the small creatures were slightly androgynous, with heart-shaped faces curving into pointed chins. Their delicate features combined with their large eyes brought to mind words like pixie and fairy. They both had long hair and their ears, which reminded Sarah of the curl of calla lilies, swept up and away from their heads.

The one she thought was male sat cross-legged in his seat. His hair was like rich chocolate with streaks of blue weaving through it. He looked a little worn, a little tired, as though he had been through more in one lifetime than any one being should. The wishbone-shaped instrument he held to his lips was the source of the music dancing through the air.

The woman next to him was roughly the same height. Her hair shimmered in the light filling the room, like moonbeams on water. Streaks of rich, mossy green twined through the starlit locks. She was curled up in her massive throne, watching the man play his pipe with a serene smile on her face. She looked very much like a child, until she shifted her attention. And Sarah nearly stumbled under the weight of that too-wise gaze.

The tiny woman didn't look surprised to see Sarah standing before her. In fact, she smiled warmly, as though she'd simply been passing the time until Sarah arrived. Her voice echoed sweetly around the room as she said, "Welcome, Traveler, to Thra."

* * *

**Chapter Title: **_The Other Side of a Mirror,_ by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (The poem is too long to put here in its entirety, but I recommend looking it up.)


	8. One Thing Was Certain

One Thing Was Certain...

"You must be in need of some refreshment after your journey. Please, have a seat. Let one of the Podlings take your...knapsack."

Sarah slipped her pack from her shoulders; looked from it to the small creature patiently waiting for her to hand it over, and hesitated. The bag was bigger than the little being and probably weighed four times as much. "Um..."

The woman with the silvery hair smiled. "Don't worry, dear," she said. "They're very strong. He'll be able to manage."

Not knowing what else to do, Sarah held the heavy pack out to it...him, maybe. She couldn't tell. She'd seen a few shuffling around the halls wearing brightly colored skirts, but most of the creatures wore trousers made from a rough, earth-toned fabric.

The Podling easily hefted the bag onto his back, then trudged out of the room. Sarah, suddenly left with nothing to do with her hands, clasped them together and tried not to shift her weight uncertainly. Finding herself in another world in front of its rulers wasn't too disconcerting—she'd been through this before. When she was younger, though, she'd thought she'd had a certain savoir-faire; now that she was older, she realized it had been naivete.

"Please, sit," the silver-haired woman said again.

Sarah had been ushered from the throne room into something far less intimidating. The ceiling here was of a normal height and Sarah's boots didn't echo noisily. The deep blue circle and triangle pattern continued across the stone floor, but was scaled down so it didn't overwhelm the room. Couches decorated one corner near a large fireplace. A dark wooden table surrounded by delicately carved chairs stood before the open doors leading to a balcony.

The king and queen sat at the table and Sarah crossed the room to join them. She sat gingerly on the spindly chair the queen indicated; prayed it wouldn't collapse under her weight.

"Would you like something to eat?" the queen asked. "Or to drink?"

"A drink would be nice, thank you," Sarah said. _Like a strong shot of whiskey...maybe saki, if you have it...Geez, I really should have packed up and moved to Japan..._

The queen smiled and nodded to one of the Podlings hovering at her elbow. "They're such sweethearts," she said as the little creature left. "They took me in when I was a child and raised me. When we became the Guardians of Thra, they insisted on serving us. We protested, of course—they aren't servants, you see, but very dear friends." Sarah nodded, trying to look politely interested. "I suspect, though, that they snuck in and took over the kitchens before we were even fully settled into the castle."

"Kira," the king said, his tone holding loving admonishment. He smiled and shook his head.

The woman laughed, and the sound twirled around the room like twinkling chimes caught in a breeze. "I'm so sorry, dear," she said to Sarah. "I tend to ramble when I get excited. I'm sure you're wondering who we are. I'm Kira and this is Jen," and she gestured toward the dark-haired man.

"Pleased to meet you," Sarah said, bobbing her head. "I'm—"

"Sarah Williams, of course," Kira said.

Sarah paused. Kira and Jen looked expectantly back at her, a comfortable knowledge in their large eyes that Sarah envied. Her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry," she said, softly. "But...how do you know who I am?"

"We've known about you for a long time, now," Kira said, as though it was perfectly normal. As though all of this—Sarah stepping through a mirror and showing up on the doorstep of their crystal castle—was _normal_. "We were told this would be the Traveler's first stop."

"Traveler?" Sarah repeated, her frown growing. They kept giving the word a certain weight, as though it was a title.

Kira blinked at her. "_You_, my dear," she said.

Sarah sat back in her chair with a soft chuckle. "I'm not _the_ Traveler," she said. "I mean, yeah, I'm on a journey, I guess. But you make it sound...important. I'm just here to find a crazy guy who has a strange fondness for goblins and likes to torment teenage girls."

Her words seemed to stun the little queen. Jen laughed softly. He placed a hand over Kira's and shook his head again. "Don't be surprised she doesn't know, my heart," he said. "We were told about this. And it's not like she's from around here."

_That's a bit of an understatement,_ Sarah thought, a small grin of her own touching her lips.

"But how is she supposed to—"

"Kira, let her at least catch her breath before you dump everything on her," Jen interrupted. He gestured toward the delicate cup and saucer a Podling had slipped on the table in front of Sarah. "Please."

The liquid in the cup was thick and dark. Sarah held it to her lips and took an unobtrusive sniff. It smelled...like leaves and honey. Not unpleasant, but...different.

"What is it?" she asked before taking a drink. "I don't mean to be rude, but I haven't exactly had the best of luck when eating things from here. I'd rather not take my chances."

Jen's smile took an understanding tilt. "It's good that you're cautious," he said. "But it's only spiny bark tea. It's magical properties will help mask your own and, to some degree, keep you safe."

The tea was very pleasant, woodsy and cool, like spring rain in a forest, but Jen's words made her nearly choke on the sip she'd taken. "Wait...my _magic_?" She shook her head. "I think you're mistaken. I don't know anything about magic." She almost added she didn't even really believe in it, anymore, but thought that was a little silly considering where she was and how she'd arrived.

Kira and Jen looked at each other, then at Sarah in a way that made her feel uncomfortable...and kind of like she _had_ said something silly.

"Of course you do," Kira said, softly. "You must, otherwise your necklace would be dormant. It will only work if someone very powerful wears it."

Sarah's fingers immediately curled around the horned amulet hidden beneath her shirt. "Do you know what this is?" she asked, pulling it out.

Surprise flickered over Kira's face again. She glanced at Jen. He simply shrugged a shoulder, then shook his head slightly. "Yes," Kira said, looking back at Sarah.

"But you won't tell me," Sarah said, frowning as she recognized Kira's tone as the same one Karen used when the woman was done discussing a subject.

"It's not that we don't want to," Jen said. He looked genuinely contrite. "But we don't know how it works. To give you only a tidbit of information could be more dangerous than telling you nothing." He paused. "It would be best to ask he who gave it to you."

Sarah nodded and tucked the necklace back under her shirt. "I have every intention of doing just that," she said. "You wouldn't happen to know how I can find the Goblin King, would you?"

"You should speak to Aughra," Jen said. "She's the Watcher of the Heavens and the Keeper of Secrets. I think she'll be able to help you on your way."

_With a title like that, I'd hope so,_ Sarah thought. "Do you of know him?" she asked. "The Goblin King?"

"Of course we do," Kira said, smiling.

Sarah sighed, hardly surprised by anything at this point. "Do you know where he is?" she asked.

"The Goblin King has been gone for...a very long time," Jen said. "His disappearance made ripples throughout the entire Underground."

"As usual when something happens to one of the more powerful of the Royal Houses," Kira added.

"There are rumors, of course," Jen continued. "Some say he went mad and locked himself away in the center of his maze."

"Well, they may have the crazy part right," Sarah said, thinking of how she'd first found Jareth. "But I don't think he's in the Labyrinth."

She idly began drawing patterns on the smooth surface of the table with her fingers, unconsciously mimicking those she'd seen on the walls of Jareth's hospital room. She didn't know why she was so sure he wasn't in the Labyrinth; it was a hunch, but it felt...right.

"He said the place he was in was very unpleasant."

Kira nodded. "Others say the Queen of the Realm has taken him prisoner for wrongs committed against her," she said. "The darker of the rumors say he's been executed."

Sarah sucked in a breath. Executed? No, that couldn't be right. She still had ten days left. "No," she said. "He's not dead. I would know."

"You sound so certain," Kira said, tilting her head, a small smile tilting her mouth.

Sarah moved her fingers in a vague gesture, flicking away the invisible patterns she'd drawn. It was another one of those visceral hunches she simply believed as truth.

"I'm not sure how, but I think I would know," she said. "For one, he'd stop showing up in my dreams to pester me if he was dead." She paused and scowled. "At least, I hope so." What a nightmare that would be, having the Goblin King haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. "What about this Queen? How do I find her? Could she tell me where he is?"

"What do you know about the Underground, Sarah?" Jen asked.

She shrugged. "Not much, really," she told him. "I've picked up various things over the years from books. As for how much of it is true and how much is just fanciful storytelling..." She made another vague gesture with her hand.

"There are two main factions that constantly vie to hold the reins of power," Jen said. "Humans have named them the Seelie and the Unseelie Courts."

"Light and dark elves," Sarah murmured.

But Jen shook his head. "Those words, _light_ and _dark_, carry connotations that are incorrect," he said. "The Seelie are not necessarily good, nor are the Unseelie necessarily bad. They are all mischievous and love meddling in the affairs of others, sometimes to the point of cruelty. It's the _degree_ to which they meddle that separates them."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying?" she asked. "There's just Bad and Worse?"

"It's more accurate than this dark and light concept humans have come up with," Jen said with a shrug. "Humans think that with great power and longevity come benevolence. Really, those things only create powerful beings who live forever and become bored."

"And this queen...she's like this?" Sarah asked.

Jen's brow furrowed slightly. "Not...exactly," he said. "Because of her position, she must appear to straddle both factions, to not favor one or the other. She wouldn't have reigned for so long if she wasn't at least just. But she's prone to fits of cruelty and rage. And she fears what any creature fears."

"Which is?"

"The end," Kira said, softly. "It's whispered she fears for her life."

"But she's immortal."

"Yes," Jen said. "But not divine. She _can_ be killed."

He paused and shared another glance with Kira, full of silent communication. When he looked back at Sarah, his expression had settled into one of regret, as though he didn't want to tell her any more, but felt he must.

"And this is why you're here."


	9. It Was the Black Kitten's Fault Entirely

...It Was the Black Kitten's Fault Entirely

Jen's words hit Sarah with almost palpable force and knocked her back into her seat. And, for a moment, all she could do was stare at the two reed-thin creatures across from her.

"No," she finally said, shaking her head. "No, I think you've made a mistake. I'm not here to kill anyone. This is just...I'm just..."

"Sometimes, what we set out to accomplish doesn't always lead us in the direction we thought," Kira said. The little queen leaned forward, a somber look on her face. "Walking through the looking glass wasn't the beginning; this game started years ago. Your arrival means it is now being playing in earnest. You wound up here for a reason, Sarah. Here, you are free, for a time, to contemplate your next move—either continue your travels or..." Kira spread her hands as she trailed off, and shrugged.

Her meaning was clear, though. And, really, what reason did Sarah have to rescue the Goblin King? Sure, she'd told him she'd help, but this was turning out to be far more serious than she had originally been led to believe, threats against her life aside. Sarah closed her eyes, trying to think.

The image of Jareth's expression when she'd asked _why_ she should bother with him floated to the surface of her memories. As much as she wanted to wash her hands of all of this, she just...couldn't. She couldn't get the Goblin King's bleak expression out of her head, couldn't ignore the way it had tugged at her heart. Couldn't, in good conscience, justify turning her back on someone in trouble when she knew it was within her power to help. And, though the Goblin King's redeeming qualities may have been few and far between—and Sarah wasn't sure she even really liked him much—she couldn't go back on her word.

It was tempting, though, to simply pack up and go home...even if she wasn't quite sure which way home was...

"The way back is the way forward," Sarah murmured. She opened her eyes and looked at Jen and Kira. "You said Aughra could help me?"

Kira smiled. Jen nodded. Their expressions were a little grim, but Sarah felt they approved of her decision.

"She will be able to get you pointed in the right direction," Jen said.

The wisewoman wouldn't arrive until the next day. Sarah spent the rest of the afternoon with Kira, touring the castle and the lush gardens spilling out to the riverbed. Birds called out cheerily to each other and Kira seemed to attract fluttering insects, much like butterflies but their little bodies and wings were nearly translucent. Sarah sat with the queen in a small grove overlooking the river in the warm sun, listening as Kira spoke about how she and Jen met.

"You're the last of your kind?" Sarah asked when the other woman reached the end of her story.

Kira nodded. "That we know of," she said. Her eyes held a touch of sadness. "We'd hoped more Gelflings would come out of hiding, but the Skeksis were very thorough in their extermination of us."

"Fear is a powerful force," Sarah murmured. She gave Kira a wan smile, but didn't explain how she knew all about how fear could motivate a person to do almost anything. Risk everything.

By nightfall, Sarah was exhausted. Kira told her it was a mild side effect of the spiny bark tea, which was working hard to mask Sarah's magic. Sarah kept her skepticism about this whole magic business to herself as the queen ushered her into a room. She thanked Kira as the door slowly shut, then stood where she was for a moment, letting her eyes roam. The smooth stone floor was dotted with thick rugs. Two wing-backed chairs gathered around a modestly sized fireplace. Her backpack rested against the foot of the large, canopied bed and a set of doors opened to a small balcony. Another, smaller door led to a bathroom, which took Sarah by surprise. She wasn't sure what she expected, but she didn't think she'd find modern plumbing.

_Well,_ she thought with a faint grin, _maybe 'modern' is too generous._

But there was a small toilet against one wall, a long alabaster tub against the other and a pedestal sink between, both of which seemed to have levers for hot and cold water. Crystal rods next to the sink and over the bathtub were draped with large, thick towels. The room was illuminated with small sconces, giving it a cozy feel. Sarah peered at the lights, trying to figure out how they worked; they flickered like candles, but no smoke or heat escaped the completely enclosed globes.

Sarah eyed the large bathtub; a long, hot soak would be perfect for getting all her thoughts in order. While the water ran, she grabbed a tank top and a pair of shorts from her backpack, then stripped off her clothes. She sighed as she sank into the hot water. She hadn't brought any shampoo or soap with her, but a small satchel on the crystal dish next to her held what looked like plant bulbs. When she dunked them in the water and rubbed them between her hands, they produced a thick, bubbly lather and perfumed the air.

Feeling clean and relaxed, Sarah sank back into the tub and closed her eyes.

It was, Sarah believed, the combination of the warm bath, the tea, and the events of the past week that were directly responsible for a smooth voice saying, "I've never like bubble baths."

Sarah's eyes flew open and she nearly shot out of the tub. Getting her wits about her before more than her shoulders breached the surface of the water, she sank back down.

Jareth perched on the edge of the bathtub by her feet. Sarah blushed furiously as his gaze wandered from the tips of her toes where they peeked out of the water, along the soapy mounds hiding the rest of her before finally meeting her eyes. A slow smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

"Not because I have anything against bubbles, of course," Jareth said.

He reached out and Sarah jerked her feet away. His smile turned into more of a smirk as he innocently scooped up a light handful of fluffy white. The bubbles scattered when he blew on them, but instead of falling back into the tub, they swirled through the air, forming into two ethereal figures slowly dancing together over the water.

"I find they tend to...leave more to the imagination than I'd prefer," he concluded.

The initial fright loosened its hold on Sarah's tongue and she glared at the Goblin King, ignoring the bubbles still dancing over the general area of her stomach. "If you're going to randomly pop up in my dreams, we're going to have to set some ground rules," she told him. "First, no showing up when I'm..." She was going to say _naked_, but for some reason it seemed the wrong choice considering the almost leering tilt Jareth's smile took. And it didn't quite cover everything; she wasn't going to have him showing up when she was only partially clothed. "...in any state of undress."

His smile twitched at the corners, as though it was trying to grow against his will. "Agreed," he said after a long moment. He reached over, pulled one of the towels from the rod, and held it out. Sarah scrambled to catch it before he let it fall into the water. Disappointment flickered through his amusement when the bubbles moved with her and kept her completely concealed.

"Do you mind?" she asked, looking pointedly from him to the door.

"Not at all," he replied, not making any move to leave.

Sarah's jaw clenched and, as much as she would have liked to haul him out of the room by his glittery goblin king ear, she wasn't exactly in the position to do more than glower. Jareth sat patiently, content to have this silent battle of wills.

"You know what? This is ridiculous," Sarah muttered. She shifted her weight forward, got her feet underneath herself and began to stand.

"Sarah, what are you doing?"

She almost laughed at the alarmed note in Jareth's voice. "Getting out of the damn bathtub," she told him. "What does it look like, Goblin King?"

She let the towel drop as she stood and wrapped it around her torso, effectively keeping him from seeing anything more than her bare arms and legs. She cast him a long glance as she stepped out of the water—and she couldn't tell if that was a flush feathering across his high cheekbones or just the dim light casting strange shadows over his face.

"If you're going to stay, you could at least have the courtesy to turn your back while I put some clothes on," she said. He still didn't move, but Sarah had the feeling it was less from mischievousness and more from mild shock. _It's all fun and games when _you're_ making the rules, hm?_ "Fine," she said, shrugging her shoulders and plucking at the edge of her towel.

Jareth jumped up from his perch and moved swiftly toward the door. "I'll wait outside while you dress," he murmured, the words choking from his throat.

After the door had closed behind him, Sarah allowed herself a soft chuckle of victory. Who knew the Goblin King would be so easily flustered? Toweling her hair dry as she walked out of the bathroom, she immediately searched the bedroom for Jareth. He sat in one of the chairs near the fireplace, his legs crossed, his arms to either side and his hands curling loosely over the ends of the armrests. He looked like her normal indifferent Goblin King once again.

Until she said, "I'm glad you're here," and something like surprise flickered over his face. Sarah bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "I have a few questions for you."

Jareth inclined his chin, but didn't say anything.

"First of all, these people here seemed convinced _I_ have magic," she said. She draped her towel over the back of the other chair and rushed on before he could make a snide comment. "Which you find hilarious, I'm sure," she said, dryly. "But I think they're confusing it with this." And she pulled the horned amulet from under her shirt. She hadn't taken it off when she'd gotten in the bathtub, Jareth's previous caveat enough to make her keep it around her neck at all times. "So, mind telling me what exactly I'm toting around?"

"It is..." He paused, as though trying to figure out how to explain it, then shrugged and said, simply, "Me. Everything I am, you hold in that medallion." A wicked gleam entered his eyes. "You can't imagine how much it pleases me that you keep it close to your heart, nestled between your—"

"Don't," Sarah said, firmly, holding her hand up to stop him. "Don't you _dare_ finish that." Her eyes narrowed when he smiled. Sheesh, who had ordered the Goblin King with a side of perv, tonight? "How does it work?"

He shrugged again. "It's complicated," he told her. "I doubt you'd understand."

Sarah frowned, not only at the implication she wasn't smart enough, but also at the explanation, which was really no kind of explanation at all. Settling into the chair across from Jareth, she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, absently tucking the necklace back in her shirt when it swung forward.

"Okay," she said. "Then why?" She tilted her head and looked at Jareth. "Why me?"

Another paused, as though he was trying to decided whether or not to tell her the truth. "I needed someone familiar with me and the Labyrinth," he finally said, in a bored tone, as though it was of no consequence. His eyes wandered over the room. "A runner."

"You had your pick of...runners...and pulled my name out of the hat? What a lucky girl I am," Sarah said.

Jareth's eyes slid back to her. "A runner who _won_," he amended. "And I didn't have a choice; you're the only one who's ever made it to my castle."

She stared at him, fighting the urge to grin. "So, what you're saying is...I'm special?"

He snorted at that, which she expected. "Hardly," he muttered, looking away again.

Sarah pushed up from her seat. She could feel Jareth's weighty gaze on her as she paced around the room. The breeze coming through the open balcony doors became cold and the floor turned icy beneath her bare feet. She crossed the room to close the doors—

—came to a startled halt when Jareth said, "I wouldn't, if I were you."

She turned to him. "Why?"

"It's very interesting to me how gullible humans are," he said. Sarah frowned. Again, that didn't really answer her question. "You think everything that's right in front of you that can be seen or touched is real."

"Are you saying that's not true?"

Jareth shrugged and unfolded from his chair. "Are dreams real?" he countered. "When you dream, can you feel things? Touch things?" Sarah nodded; her dreams had been amazingly detailed since she'd been fifteen. "But does this mean they're real?"

"I suppose it depends on your definition," Sarah said, watching as he made a lazy circuit of the room.

Jareth made an odd _hm_ in the back of his throat. As he wandered around, he touched everything, like a child unable to keep his hands to himself. "Do you remember asking if I could kill you in a dream?" he asked.

Sarah swallowed. "Yes," she said, slowly, unsure where he was going with this and trying to figure it out before he decided to show her it was possible.

His idle roaming circled around her. When she felt his hands on her shoulders, her spine immediately stiffened. God, she hadn't even heard him come up behind her.

"Relax, Sarah," he murmured, his breath lightly stirring the damp hair around her ear. His gloved fingers ran down her arms and encircled her wrists, maybe because he sensed how her entire body screamed for her to _move away!_ Goosebumps sprang up in the wake of the warm leather—whether from fear or not, Sarah wasn't sure. "I'm only going to show you."

"Show me what?" she breathed. He was all heat and hard muscle behind her, distracting and disturbing. "Show me how you can kill me?"

"No, you silly girl," he admonished, almost playfully. "How it's not me you have to fear." He released her, one finger at a time, when he felt reluctant acceptance loosen her muscles. Slowly, as though not to startle her, he raised his hands in front of her, trapping her in the cage of his arms without touching her. "Close your eyes."

A soft _ha!_ pushed through her lips. "Like hell I—"

"Sarah, please, trust me."

His words gave her pause and she replayed them over in her head. Trust him? What reason on earth did she have to _trust_ him? She'd be better off taking her chances on winning the lotto or jumping off a bridge and flying than trusting the Goblin King.

And yet...

With a sigh, she nodded.

"Good," he said. She looked down to watch as he pulled off his gloves. "If you'll hold these?"

Clutching the supple leather to her chest, Sarah held her breath. She'd made the decision to trust him, but she couldn't stop the rapid beat of her heart or the way the hair at the nape of her neck prickled, like she'd given her back to a big, hungry wolf. Not able to stand it anymore, she shifted her weight. "Can't you just _tell_ me?" she asked, turning around.

"Sarah, _please_," and Jareth's long fingers curled around her arms to keep her in place.

His bare skin pressed into hers and Sarah gasped. It felt like he'd run his fingers down her spine in a hot caress. Jareth immediately pulled away, echoing her sharp breath. The air tingled against her skin, a flush swept through her. And the space behind her, where Jareth stood, thrummed with thick heat.

Sarah licked her lips only to find her entire mouth had gone dry. "What was that?" she asked, priding herself on sounding demanding and not as quivery as her knees currently felt. "What just happened?"

"Static shock," Jareth said, his voice tight.

_And I'm a fairy princess,_ Sarah thought, narrowing her eyes. "Just get this demonstration over with," she said. "What are you going to do?"

"Wipe the sleep away," he murmured, his voice under control again. "Close your eyes."

She did as she was told and felt the pads of his fingers rest against her eyelids. Faint gold sparkles shimmered through the thin skin, and his touch was electric and warm all over again—grew almost unbearably hot, as though he was feverish.

"Make sure, when you wake, you don't panic," Jareth said in her ear.

Sarah jerked back, ignoring how the movement only nestled her deeper into his embrace. "You're making me wake up? But..." She trailed off, unsure how she wanted to finish that thought.

In the brief silence, though, she had the feeling Jareth knew what she would say. And it seemed to catch him off-guard, if the way his body leaned into her and his hesitation was anything to go by.

"But what, Sarah?" he asked, softly. "Don't tell me you want to stay here..." A pause. The air around her jaw shifted with the sardonic smile she heard in his voice. And, just like that, he recovered from his surprise and she had no desire to be near him. "...with me."

Sarah snorted. Wouldn't he love for her to admit to something so foolish. "Just do it," she growled.

The Goblin King's amusement swirled around her and she gritted her teeth against it. "'And see the rivers how they run; Thro' woods and meads, in shade and sun..."

"How nice," Sarah muttered, dryly, "that I get a bit of poetry to go with this."

Gently, Jareth placed his fingertips on her eyelids again. As he slowly pulled them to either side, Sarah felt something thick and gritty smear away from her skin.

"'A various journey to the deep; Like human life to endless sleep.'"

His recitation suddenly held an ominous undertone and Sarah reached up to grab his arm. But her fingers were met with air and his voice, as he said, "Don't forget, Sarah," was fading as though someone was turning down the volume.

The first thing she became aware of was the ice cold water rushing around her. Her eyes flew open. With a startled cry, Sarah flailed her arms, trying to keep her balance as the muddy ground sank and shifted beneath her.

She stood nearly shoulder-deep in the river behind the castle. And she found its calm surface was dangerously deceptive. A forceful undercurrent battered against her, grabbed at her legs, nearly swept her off her feet.

Her panicked movements only made everything worse; her head went under and she sucked in a mouthful of silty water. Struggling to the surface again, she tightened her jaw against the cold and got herself firmly under control. She fought against the current, slowly made her way toward the bank.

When she finally crawled out of the river, she flopped onto the soft grass, shivering and staring up at the sliver of moon shining overhead.

"'Don't panic,' he says," Sarah snarled, but without as much heat as she would have liked. "He could have at least given me a towel."

The glittering stars above her twinkled sympathetically. With another sigh, Sarah stumbled to her feet and back toward the castle.

It was only then she realized she still gripped a pair of soft, black leather gloves in her hand.

* * *

**A/N:** The poem Jareth quotes is from _Grongar Hill_ by John Dyer.

**Chapters 7 and 8 titles:** "One thing was certain, that the _white_ kitten had had nothing to do with it:—it was the black kitten's fault entirely. For the white kitten had been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of an hour (and bearing it pretty well, considering); so you see that it _couldn't_ have had any hand in the mischief." _Through the Looking Glass,_ Lewis Carroll


	10. The Shadow Lies so Darkly on the Hill

The Shadow Lies so Darkly on the Hill

The Podlings, Sarah decided with mild exasperation, were nosy little creatures. While episodes of somnambulism weren't anything to be ashamed of, sleepwalking herself into the damn river and nearly drowning wasn't something she really wanted to talk about. But one of the little potato-headed creatures must have seen Sarah dripping down the halls as she dragged her exhausted body back to her room and informed the Gelflings queen.

"Sarah, you should have told us of your condition," Kira lightly chided over breakfast. "We could have taken precautions to make sure you remained safe."

Sarah squashed a surge of teenage pugnaciousness and tried not to glare into her food. Three long, thin fingers gently touched the back of her hand and she looked up into Jen's smile. With the weight of time etched onto his face and his easy attitude, he reminded her of a pixie version of her father.

"She isn't berating you," Jen said. "She's just concerned."

"She sounds like my stepmother," Sarah confided, softly, even though Kira was on her way out of the room.

Jen chuckled and patted her hand. "If you're finished with breakfast, we can see about getting you on your way," he said. "Aughra arrived before daybreak and is eager to meet you."

Sarah nodded and followed him from the sitting room. Though she'd had a tour of the place yesterday, she still couldn't help peeking around corners and into some of the rooms opening up off the hallway. The castle was full of little surprises—a solarium whose outside wall was one large sheet of curving glass; nooks that held brilliant pieces of artwork; crannies turned into tiny libraries. Jen even stopped to show her a few of the secret passages running throughout the castle.

As small as the Gelflings were, Sarah was surprised to find most of the furniture and rooms were made for some the size of an average human.

"The urSkeks were about your height," Jen said when she asked him. "This was their castle before they Transcended. Ah, here we are."

He gestured for Sarah to precede him into the room. As she stepped inside, the lights brightened, like they were motion-activated, and Sarah's eyes widened as she looked around. The room wasn't quite as big as the throne room, but the glass dome ceiling gave the impression that it continued upward all the way to the sky. A large mechanical representation of planets and suns stood in the center of the room. Tables, chairs, even the floor was strewn with strange looking gadgets that glowed, chimed, wheezed, clunked and clicked.

"We had the orrery built for Aughra to temporarily use until hers is rebuilt," Jen said, stepping around Sarah and waving a hand at the spinning globes.

"Rebuilt because you burnt it down," a scratchy voice said, making Jen shake his head and give Sarah a tolerant smile.

A short, heavyset woman waddled around the orrery. Iron-grey hair fell to her waist in a tangled mess. A tattered grey shawl wrapped around her shoulders and covered all but the skirts of her scarlet dress. Her skin was darker than Jen's and had the texture of wrinkled leather. Shoots of grey hair sprang out from the top of her lip and a crease, more pronounced than the rest of her wrinkles, scored deeply across her forehead, giving her a permanent scowl.

"Aughra," Jen said, bowing at the waist respectfully. "In all fairness, it was the Garthim who burnt your observatory down."

The woman _harrumphed_ and pushed past him. "You. Them," she muttered. "Hardly matters." She came to a halt nearly on Sarah's toes. Coming up only to Sarah's hip, Aughra had to crane her neck back to look the younger woman in the eye. This close, Sarah could see two ram-like horns hidden among the frizzy cloud of her grey hair. The wisewoman had a squint—one eye either injured or completely gone—but there was something in the solitary rheumy orb that made Sarah nervous.

"So, the Traveler has finally made it, has she?" Aughra _harrumphed_ in the back of her throat again. "You don't look like much of a hero," she said, taking a step back. "But then, I suppose you usually don't."

Jen chuckled. Aughra ignored him and continued to stare at Sarah, who felt she should at least be polite. "Um." Sarah licked her lips; when Jen had told her the Keeper of Secrets was eager to meet her, Sarah hadn't quite imagined someone like...this. "It's very nice to meet you."

Aughra snorted. "Very nice, indeed," she muttered. She turned her back on Sarah and walked around a nearby table, disappearing behind what looked like, to Sarah, piles of junk. "I suppose you'd like me tell you how to get to where you're going."

"Yes, please, if you can," Sarah said, nodding even though she wasn't sure the wisewoman could see her.

"Of course I can," came the indignantly hoarse reply. "But will I. Hmm. Maybe, maybe." There was a short shuffling sound and a metallic _clink_. Sarah looked at Jen, who shrugged. "Or maybe, I'll just snatch that pretty bauble from around your dead neck."

Sarah whirled around. Terror pulsed through her at the menacing look on Aughra's face. Sarah backed away, eyes wide. The amulet under her shirt warmed and gold light pierced through the cotton. Aughra eyed it, her head tilting to the side.

"Interesting," was all she said. Then, "Follow me."

_Yeah, right,_ Sarah thought, not moving when the old woman walked out of the room.

"It's okay," Jen assured, motioning for Sarah to follow. "She's mostly all bark."

"Mostly?" Sarah repeated as she walked behind him. "What about the bit that isn't?"

Jen laughed and lengthened his stride to keep up with Aughra—for being short and squat, she sure did move fast. When she came to a halt, she looked over her shoulder, an annoyed expression crossing her face at finding Sarah and Jen so far behind.

"Inside, inside," she rasped with an impatient gesture. "You don't keep Them waiting."

Sarah hesitated. Walking into what seemed to be essentially a black hole was on her list of things that seemed like a Bad Idea. She glanced at the wisewoman, who glared up at her. And having Aughra at her back, who'd been threatening just moments ago, didn't seem very prudent, either.

But nothing had harmed her so far, and her gut kept telling her she could trust these people. She had learned at fifteen those feelings could get a person far in places like this.

Still, she walked cautiously into the room only after Jen gave her an encouraging nod and smile. The lights here, like in Aughra's observatory, came on as soon as Sarah stepped over the threshold. Unlike the observatory, though, the lights were in the floor—shimmering veins of gold running through the stone toward the center of the room. As they brightened, Sarah saw the perfectly circular hole in the middle that the lights swirled around.

And the gigantic crystal hovering above it.

A white-gold ray of light from a mirroring hole in the ceiling shafted down toward the crystal, hit it angles and bounced into the room. Sarah squinted into the brilliance and finally had to turn away when the blinding light brought tears to her eyes.

After the blaze dissipated, she was left blinking into the seeming gloom.

Except, now, she wasn't alone.

The being standing—no,_ hovering_ in front of Sarah was tall and willowy, the thin, crystalline branches sprouting from its head only adding to its impressive height. It had the face of an old man—a large, turnip-shaped nose, a heavy, hairless brow—but its eyes glowed white-gold from corner to corner. A pale, high-collared flowing robe hid everything but its long, reed-thin fingers, and was decorated with swirling gold circular patterns. The circles, like minature suns, moved continuously, as though the threads were in a constant state of flux.

_That's a neat trick,_ Sarah thought.

"The Traveler," the being in front of her intoned. Its voice echoed brightly around the room, tasted like fresh forests and looked like warm spring days.

Sarah swallowed the taste from her tongue. "Why does everyone keep calling me that?" she muttered. "My name is Sarah. Sarah Williams."

A deep silence answered her, but Sarah had the impression it was amused rather than annoyed. "Sarah Williams," it amended, a droll note in its multi-toned voice. "You wish to continue your journey?"

_I don't make wishes, anymore,_ she wanted to say. But instead replied, "Yes, please."

"You should know, your path will not be as straight as you might like," the being told her. And, _Of course not,_ Sarah thought. _Why would _anything_ concerning the Goblin King be easy?_ "But though you may wander, you will not be lost as long as you keep your purpose." The spindly being held its hands up, palms out, then brought them quickly together. The sound rang through the air like a sonorous bell tolling. As it faded, so did the glowing being. "The crystal will act as a portal, but only for a short time," it told Sarah. It paused and solidified a little, its attention shifting to something behind her. "Gelflings," it murmured.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder and saw Kira and Jen standing a few feet away. One of the Podlings shuffled in behind them, carrying Sarah's backpack. Kira dropped into a low curtsy and Jen bowed deeply.

"Unglm," Jen said. "We are honored by your presence and offer our thanks for your assistance."

The being Jen named Unglm gave the Gelflings a small smile and nodded. "Our decision to leave this place to you was wise," it said, fading at the edges once again. "Luck to you, Sarah Williams."

When it had disappeared completely, Sarah let out a soft breath. She face Kira and Jen with a smile. "That seemed to go well," she told them.

Kira echoed her expression. "Very well," she said. "You have a direction and safe passage."

"And luck given by an urSkek is no paltry thing," Jen added.

"I have a feeling I'll need all I can get," Sarah said. She thanked the little Podling who trudged across the room and handed over her pack. "Although, I'm holding out hope this excursion into lands unknown will be easier than I'm being led to believe." She huffed as she slung the heavy load onto her shoulders. "His Royal Glitteryness better be worth all this trouble."

Kira crossed the room and took one of Sarah's hands in both of hers. "How far would you go for something you believe in, Sarah?" she asked. "How much would you sacrifice for someone you love?"

"Everything," Sarah said, her tone surprised, as though the answer should have been obvious. Because to her, it was.

"And for the Goblin King? Would you give your life to save him?"

Sarah hesitated.

Kira smiled faintly. "You remind me much of myself when I was young," she said. She patted the back of Sarah's hand affectionately. "You'll know, when the time comes, how much you're willing to give. You have powerful friends, remember." She patted Sarah's hand again. "We've put some spiny bark tea in your pack. It can be brewed or eaten. Be sure to take some at least once a day, if you can."

Sarah nodded. "I'll try," she said.

"And be wary of the forests," Kira added. Sarah nodded again. "And don't forget—"

"Kira, love," Jen interrupted with a soft laugh.

"I hate goodbyes," Kira admitted, smiling ruefully. "But we'll see each other again, that I know."

Sarah suddenly felt a little awkward. When she'd been fifteen, she would have hugged the Gelflings enthusiastically. Now...should she bow? Shake their hands? What was the protocol here for a human adult thanking a king and queen?

Kira solved the dilemma by motioning for Sarah to lean down. She patted the young woman's cheek gently. "You've grown up too much," Kira said. "Don't forget the girl you once were—you'll need her more than you think."

Sarah carefully returned Kira's hug. When she face Jen, he smiled, lightly kissed her knuckles, then hugged her as well. "Safe travels, Sarah," he said. "Until we meet again, be well."

Sarah thanked them both, then with a deep breath turned once again to face the crystal. She wondered how this was supposed to work; would it just teleport her somewhere? Did she need to give it instructions? There didn't seem to be any buttons...

"Um...'Beam me up, Scotty'?" She frowned at the crystal when nothing happened. "I don't need to click my heels together or anything, do I?" she asked over her shoulder.

She felt the Gelflings' confusion in their short silence. "No," Kira said. "Just think of where you want to go as clearly as possible."

Right. Where she wanted to go...

Where did she want to go? She didn't know the first thing about this place or where she should start searching for Jareth. The only thing she was familiar with was...

_Well, I suppose that's as good a place to start as any._

Sarah closed her eyes again, furrowed her brow, and thought of sparkling brick walls strewn with dessicated trees, vigilant lichen, and hidden openings. She thought of two headed riddle askers, hands in the shape of faces, and little places of forgetting...

"The Labyrinth," she whispered, and stepped forward.

A searing light burned around her, making her wince and instinctively turned her head away. Tears squeezed from under her eyelids, but she wrapped her fingers around her amulet and took another step forward. She cracked an eye open to make sure she didn't accidentally step into the hole in the floor—

Her pulse leaped wildly. Her breath caught when she realized she stood suspended in the center of the vast opening. Rainbow shafts of light danced around her, as brilliant and blinding as the sparks from a diamond. Beyond the crystal wall, she could just make out Kira and Jen, holding hands and watching her. Sarah thought she saw Kira lift her arm in a wave, but the rainbows exploded around her and her vision went completely white.

When Sarah felt solid earth under her, she stumbled to her knees and took a few moments remembering how to breathe. The human body, she was sure, wasn't meant to be thrust through mirrors or teleported through crystals. _Whatever happened to good old fashion cars and planes?_

She slid her backpack from her shoulders and pushed unsteadily to her feet. She stood on a hilltop surrounded by dense forest. Nestled in the valley far below was a little town, the wilderness hovering claustrophobically around it. It was a long way between her and the village, and fighting her way though a dark forest didn't sound very appealing. Or safe, even without Kira's warning. Sarah turned around to see if she had any other options.

And she frowned.

"Well, at least I've found myself another castle," she sighed. The Underground seemed to be littered with them, but it still wasn't _the_ castle. While she certainly didn't think things would have remained exactly how she's left them twelve years ago, Sarah didn't believe the Labyrinth could have been swallowed by all this thick vegetation or that the castle beyond the goblin city would be in such disrepair.

"How the hell am I supposed to get to where I want to go?" she muttered.

_Maybe where you want to go and where you need to go are not the same..._

Sarah blinked. That thought seemed entirely too profound to be hers. Warmth flared against her skin and she glanced down at the amulet hanging around her neck.

It winked at her.

"Just not surprised, anymore."

Slinging her backpack onto her shoulders again, Sarah started toward the castle. This hike wasn't as pleasant as when she'd landed in Thra—the slope was steep and rocky, the air was heavy with humidity, and every few feet she seemed to find a cloud of gnats, which tried their damnedest to fly up her nose and into her mouth.

Sarah snorted the annoying insects out of her nostrils and carefully stepped around fallen stones. The castle must have once been a grandly beautiful structure—she could still see chips of bright paint on some of the walls—but it had been neglected by everything but the elements. She ran her fingers along a smoother stone wall as she made her way through the deteriorated gatehouse and into the overgrown courtyard. Ahead, the main building stood...sagged, really, in weary dilapidation while its windows' dead black eyes peered down at her.

A cool breeze touched the nape of Sarah's neck. She ignored the sensation, and climbed the cracked and crumbling stairs leading into the castle proper. The only illumination inside came from sunlight beaming through the holes in the roof. Sarah's boots scuffed along the pebbles littering the floor as she made her way deeper into the castle.

A sharp sound snapped through the empty space. Sarah's heart jumped to her throat. Looking up, she saw watch a pigeon-colored bird fly out of a dark corner. A shaky breath passed through her lips and she shook her head. The silence of the place was definitely creepy. She hooked her thumbs through the straps of her backpack, prepared to sling it from her shoulders and swing at anything that might jump out at her.

The door ahead was bright with sunlight and, as Sarah stepped through, she saw the roof was completely gone from over what she thought had once been a grand hall. Towering trees had taken the place of the crumbling stone columns that had once stood around the edges, casting deep shadows into the corners. A set of stairs led down to the main area, the floor of which might have once been a brilliantly colored mosaic. Now, tufts of grass shot from cracks cutting through the pictures, faded until they were no longer recognizable.

Sarah stepped through the door—then quickly retreated back into the shadows when she heard something softly sweeping over the floor below her.

A woman swayed out from between the columns. She was barefoot, but paid no head to the tiny stones strewn over the floor. Her dress might have once been a lovely shade of sky blue, but now was a dingy grey, and the edges of her black bodice were frayed. Full skirts dotted with small rents twisted and unwound lightly from her ankles, the hems heavily stained. She spun through the ruins, back and forth, her arms held up as though she waltzed with an invisible partner.

And she sang. Softly, almost under her breath. As she passed by the short staircase where Sarah stood, twirling on the balls of her feet in a graceful half-turn, the melody fell from her lips, sweet as the song of a nightingale.

Sarah pulled in a soft breath when she recognized the song. The woman jerked to a halt. Turning around slowly, her hands fell to her sides and she buried them in her dirty skirts. But the aria still whispered from her lips, as though she couldn't stop the melody from spilling out.

A shaft of sunlight cut through the trees and touched off thick blonde hair the color of tarnished gold spun with wilting dandelions. Creamy skin stretched over delicate features; a thin nose turned slightly upward at the tip, a small rosebud of a mouth, high cheekbones holding an attractive flush. She was pretty, beautiful despite the condition of her clothes and tangled hair.

There was something..._off_ about her, though. And it wasn't just the small scratches marring the porcelain perfection of her face and arms, making her look like she'd been running blindly through the forest, or the dirty bandages wrapped around the pointer finger of her left hand. It was something Sarah couldn't quite place. At first, she thought maybe it was the weird play of shadows under the precise arch of the woman's eyebrows...

But as she moved closer, as her familiar song started from the beginning—this time, an eerie whisper of _"I know you..."_—Sarah realized what was wrong. No light sparkled from jewel-toned irises. Something dry and flaky smeared under her eyes; something too rusty red to be dirt.

Bile rose, hot and thick, in Sarah's throat as the woman lifted her chin and shook her hair over her shoulder.

Because the dark crimson smudged over the woman's cheeks was dried blood—

—from the thin black threads sewn through her upper and lower eyelids, keeping them permanently shut.

* * *

**Chapter title:** "Who's that walking on the moorland? Who's that moving on the hill? They are passing 'mid the bracken, But the shadows grow and blacken, And I cannot see them clearly on the hill.[...] Who's that running on the moorland? Who's that flying on the hill? He is there—and there again, But you cannot see him plain, For the shadow lies so darkly on the hill." _A Tragedy_, Arthur Conan Doyle


	11. Said the Spider to the Fly

Said the Spider to the Fly

The blind woman moved warily toward the stairs.

"Who's there?"

Sarah had a quick argument with herself about whether to announce her presence or turn around and walk out of the crumbling castle.

As fast as possible.

"My name is Sarah," she finally decided, pulling away from the shadows. She took a careful step forward, stopped at the staircase. The other woman tilted her head, as though contemplating Sarah with her blind eyes. An icy shiver crawled up Sarah's spine. Apparently deciding Sarah wasn't interesting enough, the woman nodded, then turned to walk away.

"Wait, please," Sarah said, hurrying down three steps. The woman turned again. "That song you were singing..." She hesitated. "That song. I've heard it before," she said. "Where did you learn it?"

A small smile touched the woman's mouth. "A king taught it to me, once upon a time," she murmured. She crossed her arms over her chest, pale fingers gripping her upper arms, and she swayed as she hummed again. "It's lovely, is it not?"

Sarah nodded; remembered the woman couldn't see the gesture and said, "Yes." And maybe meant she was on the right track—because it was unlikely anyone on this side of the mirror would know popular tunes from fairytale movies. "I'm trying to find a place...a labyrinth," Sarah said, taking another step down. "Can you tell me...that is, I was wondering if you could help me."

"Labyrinth?" The woman's thin eyebrows pulled together. "I know of no such place." She made a vague gesture, encompassing the crumbling surroundings in the graceful movement. "Here, there is only the castle and the forest." She paused and tilted her head in Sarah's direction again. "My aunt, though, may be able to help you. She knows much about things beyond the forest."

"Can you take me to her?" Sarah asked.

The pretty woman hesitated, her face turned in Sarah's direction, and Sarah tried not to nervously shift her weight; those long, blind stares she kept receiving were downright uncanny. Finally, the woman nodded and said, "Follow me."

Sarah hooked her thumbs through the straps of her backpack and followed as the woman deftly made her way out of the castle ruins. Something in Sarah's gut twisted, something in her head nagged this wasn't a good idea. But the woman seemed friendly enough, macabre eyes aside, and really what did Sarah have to fear from a blind woman? She pushed away the feeling creeping up her spine and breathing against the back of her neck.

As they left the castle behind and entered the forest, the woman stopped for a moment to retrieve a small, rusted lantern from the side of the trail. She took off her shawl and slipped the end through the ring at the top, then wrapped the shawl around her waist and shoulders again.

"You said your name was Sarah?" she asked. Before Sarah could answer, the woman smiled. "I'm Talia. It's so very nice to meet someone around my age." She made another vague gesture as she continued walking, a graceful flick of her long, slender fingers. "My aunt never lets me wander farther than the castle. I've begged her to let me ride with her to the village, but she says it's better for me to stay at home."

_I can't imagine why,_ Sarah thought. Up close, the threads sewn through the woman's eyelids were even more grotesque.

The path they followed edged a small clearing where the nearly waist-high gold-green grass reached urgently for the sun. Stalks of flowers Sarah thought might be hollyhocks waved lethargically in the hot breeze, and sleepy insects fluttered to and from the blooms, their wings faintly clattering over the _shush_ of dry grass.

"The dragonflies are beautiful, are they not?" Talia commented.

Sarah glanced at the rainbow-winged insects. "Yes," she agreed. Although, they were frighteningly large, the smallest one's body easily the length from the tip to Sarah's pinky to the end of her thumb.

"They're sometimes called the Devil's Darning Needles, did you know?"

Sarah shifted her gaze to the blind woman. "Why?"

Rose petal lips curled into an eerie smile. "Because they sew the lips of liars closed," Talia told her.

A chill forced its way up Sarah's spine. And she suddenly thought maybe this wasn't the best decision she'd made while on this side of the mirror. For all the bravado she'd shown Kira and Jen, Sarah was seriously starting to have some real doubts about this whole rescue-the-Goblin-King thing. The forest felt strangely empty—nothing scampered through the underbrush, no birds called to each other from the trees—and the woman walking easily next to her was starting to give her a serious case of the creeps.

"Your light is very unusual," Sarah said, figuring it was a safe subject.

Talia patted the lantern at her side, making the multicolored lights inside flutter around frantically. Sarah could hear muted thumps as they dashed against the grimy glass panes, and realized before the other woman said anything they weren't merely colorful flames.

"Faeries," Talia said, a pretty frown touching her lips. "Meddlesome creatures. I captured them on my way to the castle. They need to be locked away so they won't harm anyone."

"You just...keep them in there?" Sarah asked.

Talia nodded. "Until they die," she replied, almost offhandedly. "It takes quite some time; they're extremely hardy." A horrified expression froze on Sarah's face, and the blind woman smiled again. "You feel bad for them?"

Feel bad? Sarah thought it was the most abhorrent thing she'd ever witnessed. She wasn't exactly a member of PETA, but she certainly didn't believe in treating any living creature so poorly. Besides, faeries were supposed to be kind and...

_"I thought they did nice things, like granting wishes."_

_"Shows what you know, don't it?"_

Sarah snorted and shook her head. "All I know is they bite," she said.

The other woman nodded. "Yes," she said. "They are wicked and cruel. Come," and she stepped from the trail into a thick patch of undergrowth. "My aunt's house lies just through here."

Sarah hesitated. A clear line marked the border of the path—it was so clear, in fact, there might as well have been a sign. The grass didn't even attempt to encroach past it. Even the trees' roots seemed loathe to stretch in the direction of the hard-packed dirt. And that was strange, Sarah thought as she looked around. The forest was clearly a wild place...

"Come, Sarah." Talia beckoned from the deep shadows a few feet ahead.

Tightening her fingers around the straps of her backpack, Sarah pulled in a breath. Held it.

And stepped from the path.

When nothing happened, she let out a shaky laugh and smiled a little. How silly to think she'd be in imminent danger for doing something as mundane as leaving a trail.

Even if she had been warned against it.

But Jareth's words were sometimes open to interpretation and, really, this was the only lead she had since he'd proven quite unhelpful about his precise location. Sure, she could have fought her way down to the village below the hill, but Talia seemed to think her aunt could point Sarah in the right direction. And if that wasn't the case, well...it wasn't like she couldn't leave.

Sarah's fingers slipped to the leather knife sheath strapped around her belt to make sure it was still there.

The walk through the forest was pleasant despite the only noise being the women's footsteps and Talia's chatter. The shade provided some relief from the sweltering heat, and the crush of old leaves underfoot scented the air.

"Have you traveled far?" Talia asked over her shoulder.

Sarah snorted. "I suppose you could say that," she told the woman. She pushed a tree branch aside, noting Talia ignored the thin switches grazing her arms and face. "I'm here looking for someone. A king who seems to have misplaced his royal behind."

"Are you in love with him?"

Sarah stumbled in surprise at the question. When she recovered, she chuckled. "No," she said, firmly.

Talia shook her head. "It sounds as though you are," she said. "Traveling far and wide to find him. A quest of love."

"A quest to make sure he doesn't bug me anymore," Sarah muttered. Talia gave her a puzzled look over her shoulder. "Never mind. I'm not in love with him."

"What is he like, this king of yours?"

"Well, first off, he's not _my_ anything. And he's..." Sarah shrugged. "He's a little obnoxious and sometimes mean. Other times, he reminds me of a pouting child. I don't know," and she shrugged again, "he's just Jare—"

"We're here," Talia interrupted, clapping her hands together once with excitement.

Sarah stepped out of the forest and into another small clearing. The grass here, though, was trimmed and a lush green. The cottage standing in the middle looked like one Jacob and Wilhelm would have described in the stories they'd collected. The dark shingles were in need of some repair and the peaking roof sagged alarmingly. Tiny windows dotted the pale stone and a thin thread of grey smoke rose from the cobblestone chimney. In front of the house was a neat garden, and the scent of roses and lavender vied for dominance as the two women neared.

"I'm so glad you came with me, Sarah," Talia said. "I think we're going to be the best of friends, even if you're only here for a short while. Come, let me introduce you to my aunt." The blind woman held out her hand.

"Talia...you're bleeding," Sarah said, mild distress coloring her tone. But the other woman merely held up her left hand and rubbed the thumb over her bandaged pointer finger. "Did you hurt yourself on the way here?" Sarah asked, shrugging her pack from her shoulders and trying to remember if she'd bothered to stuff any Band-Aids in there.

Talia shook her head, tilted her chin down as though peering at her bleeding finger, and frowned. "No," she said. "A flax seed was embedded into it...long ago. The wound has never healed."

"You should have a doctor look at it," Sarah said, up to her elbow in her backpack.

An unpleasant grin spread Talia's lips. "This isn't something a doctor can fix," she said. "This is part of my curse. As are my eyes." She ran the wounded finger over the threads, smearing them with fresh blood. Sarah swallowed the sour taste that sprang to her mouth. "To be eternally beautiful, to see nothing but darkness forever."

"Who did this to you?" Sarah asked, softly, horror edging her words.

"The faeries," Talia spat, a fierce expression darkening her face. She was beautiful even when angry. She unwound the lantern from her shawl, held it up and shook it. Only one of the lights inside the lantern swirled frantically around its cage; the others flickered lethargically on the bottom. "Oh, not directly, but they certainly had a hand in it." She dropped the lantern on a large grey stone edging the garden and took a deep breath. "No matter," she said, smiling brightly. "I'm fixing that particular problem one faerie at a time."

Sarah shivered and warily followed the woman into the house. As she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior light, her nostrils flared at the scent of sweet baking things. In fact, it smelled exactly like gingerbread.

"Talia, who've you brought with you?" a hoarse voice asked.

"A friend, Auntie," Talia said. "Don't be mad. She's just a traveler who needs some directions."

"I'm tired of you bringing home strays."

"I told her you knew many things," Talia continued without missing a beat. "That you were the wisest person in the forest and beyond."

"Hm, well..."

Sarah blinked, trying to see through the gloom. Almost wished she hadn't. The woman unfolding from a low stool in the corner stooped with age, scraggly hair cast her features into shadow. As she moved past the windows, though, a stray beam struck the uneven planes of her face. The cane she used to shuffle forward scraped unnervingly across the stone floor, like fingernails on a chalkboard.

"Yer a pretty young thing, aren't you?" The woman came to a stop and squinted up at Sarah, whose nostrils flared again at the stink of unwashed skin under the smell of gingerbread. "Suppose you want to be fed."

"No, ma'am," Sarah said with a shake of her head. "I just need directions, then I'll be on my way."

"Sun's going down soon. Can't be caught in the woods after dark." The woman limped closer. "Dangerous place," she murmured. "And yer a pretty thing. Yer hair..." The haggard woman reached out with a gnarled hand. Sarah could barely stop the urge to jerk away. "Such a loverly shade of black. Like the richest sable."

She ran a thick lock through her fingers and Sarah winced as a strand caught on the broken edge of the woman's fingernail.

"You and Talia would be loverly together. Perfect opposites—night and day, shade and light."

The woman stepped closer and Sarah had to force her stomach back where it belonged as she sucked in another breath filled with rotten stench. She swallowed thickly, attempting to clear the scent from the back of her tongue, and hoped her smile looked genuine.

"You and your niece live here alone?" Sarah asked.

The woman nodded, her head wobbling loosely on her scrawny neck. "Yes. Ungrateful child, she is," the woman said, as though Talia wasn't in the room. "Lucky she's not really my niece. Took her in when her mother abandoned her in my jujube patch, and she had the gall to be _dissatisfied_ with her life. Tried to run away with some scoundrel. And do you know what he did?" Sarah thought it a rhetorical question. But when she didn't answer, the old woman asked, again, demandingly, "Do you _know_ what he _did_?"

"Um...no?"

"Used her and left her, just like all men do in the end," the hag said, bitterly. "I warned her, told her not to let anyone into the house except me. But did she listen? No, of course not. You young things all think you know better than your elders," she muttered. "Disobedience leads to ruin, mark my words. Just look where it got my poor Talia. Cursed, that's where it got her."

"Surely there's something that can be done about it," Sarah said. These things always had a solution in the stories.

"True love's first kiss," Talia said, softly.

The hag let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Foolish, both of you," she rasped. She glared at Talia, who seemed to feel the expression and shrank from it. "True love," and she scoffed. "Look where your supposed _true love_ got you. I suppose you were up at that castle again, mourning your lost _love_." The old woman snorted when Talia turned her head and flushed a pretty shade of pink. "Stupid child. Dead and gone for years, and yet you still pine for something that was never yours anyways."

She turned her ugly sneer on Sarah; narrowed her eyes when Sarah didn't cower. But Sarah had seen far more dangerous expressions from one Goblin King and the old hag, deformed and repulsive though she was, was nowhere near as intimidating as Jareth.

"As for you, well, I'll give you directions, be sure of that. But they will cost you."

Sarah eyed the old woman warily. "Cost me?" she asked, cautiously. "I don't have any money or anything to trade."

"Nothing of value," the old woman assured. "I simply require your help around the house tomorrow afternoon. After the chores are done, I will send you on your way." When Sarah's shoulders slumped in relief, the hag cackled—and Sarah's spine went rigid all over again. "Now, to bed with you loverly things. Early start tomorrow."

Talia ushered Sarah into a small room barely large enough for the bed it contained. She insisted Sarah take the bed and made a makeshift pallet for herself on the floor. As daylight quickly faded and turned into night, Sarah felt herself relax, one muscle at a time. This bed wasn't nearly as comfortable as her own or the one at the crystal castle, but at least it was a bed.

"Sweet dreams, Sarah."

Sarah smiled. "Goodnight."

"We're going to be the best of friends," Talia whispered.

In the darkness, Sarah felt thin fingers slip into hers, the smooth skin a sharp contrast to the rough bandage. She tried not to shudder as cold apprehension slithered into her gut.

Her dreams that night were strangely quiet, yet she felt as though she was struggling to find something...someone...just behind a thick curtain she couldn't push through.

When she woke the next morning, the sun shone brightly again, birds called sweetly from the surrounding trees, and the house was filled with the scent of sweet bread. Sarah stretched and shuffled from the bedroom, feeling each place the straw bed had poked her, but thinking perhaps her disquiet from the night before was unwarranted.

Talia sat, fresh-faced and lovely, at the small kitchen table in the main room. She was humming, not the tune Sarah had heard yesterday, but something lively and merry that curled the young woman's lips into a pretty smile.

"You're awake," the blind woman said, her smile growing. "Good. Break your fast, quickly. There's much to be done."

Sarah shook her head at the bread slices offered to her and pulled out the PowerBar in her pocket. "I have breakfast," she told Talia. "But thank you." As she chewed, she idly watched the other woman move gracefully around the house. One never would have thought she was blind.

They worked in the garden behind the house until the heat forced them into the shade. Talia led Sarah through the forest a short distance to a small brook where they washed off the worst of the sweat and grime. Talia laughed sweetly when Sarah playfully splashed her with water. After a quick lunch, during which Sarah once again refused the food offered and ate from her pack, they hauled buckets of water into the house for the great pot—cauldron, really, Sarah thought—sitting in the fireplace.

"Talia tells me you've refused to eat," the old woman said, late in the afternoon.

Sarah refrained from glaring at the younger woman. If their roles had been reversed, Sarah thought she'd probably be concerned about a guest not eating, too. "I don't want to impose on your hospitality any more than necessary," she said, politely. "I brought food of my own."

"Well, you will dine with us tonight," the hag said. She ladled out something thick from the pot over the fire and set the bowl in front of Sarah. "And, on the morrow, we'll send you on your way."

"Auntie's stew is ever so good," Talia said, eagerly accepting her bowl.

"I even have a treat for you loverly things." The old woman reached into a burlap sack and pulled out two shiny red apples. When the fruit fell into Talia's hands, the girl made a soft sound of joy.

A faint warning bell chimed in the back of Sarah's head. "It's very kind of you," she began, turning the apple over in her hands, "but I have—"

"_Eat_," the woman nearly shouted, a snarl curling her lip.

Sarah wanted to be stubborn about it, to flip the bowl of stew over and splatter it across the table. Maybe throw the apple in the hag's face. But Talia reached out and placed a cool hand on Sarah's arm.

"Please, Sarah, eat," she said, softly.

Without taking her eyes from the hag, Sarah picked up her spoon and ate a bite of stew. It was, as Talia said, very good. But there was some hidden taste, a spice maybe, that Sarah couldn't place. It lingered on her tongue after she swallowed and made her mouth water unpleasantly. Her stomach rolled and tried to crawl up her throat. Sarah swallowed again and pushed the bowl away from her.

A triumphant gleam lit the hag's dull eyes.

"I'm not feeling well," Sarah said. "If you'll excuse me."

She left the room and curled up in the straw-filled cot. Her stomach grumbled its displeasure at not being fed, but the taste of the stew still coated the back of her tongue. She pulled the packet of spiny bark from her backpack and chewed on the small piece as she lay in bed. Kira had said it would keep her safe; Sarah was hoping that included food poisoning.

As she drifted toward slumber, she heard voices whispering in the next room. _"Shan't escape..."_ and _"...stay with us forever..."_ and _"...best of friends."_ But not even the fear those broken sentences caused could keep her from being yanked into the void of unconsciousness.

* * *

**A/N:** There are many hints to and a mish-mash of different stories in this chapter. Talia and the aunt/hag aren't original characters, and I can't honestly take credit for Talia's description—a wonderful image of her was done by jeftoon01 at deviantArt. Cookies will be liberally distributed for those who can guess Talia's more popular (and decidedly less dark) alias! :)

**Chapter title:** "Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly, "'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; The way into my parlour is up a winding stair, And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there." "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again." _The Spider and the Fly_, by Mary Howitt


	12. I Shall Do Thee Mischief in the Woods

I Shall Do Thee Mischief in the Woods

"_Why_ are you sleeping in a hovel?"

The question was asked with barely concealed disdain.

"It's not a hovel, it's a cottage."

The gesture Jareth made was a pretentious assent—clearly, he didn't agree, but he wasn't going to argue the point further.

"Besides, I don't see you directing me to the nearest bed and breakfast," Sarah added. She rose stiffly from the straw bed and moved across the room, putting her back to the wall so she could watch Jareth, who leaned with casual grace against the footboard.

"It isn't my responsibility to find you decent lodgings."

"You aren't responsible for much these days, are you?"

"On the contrary, princess, I _live_ to do your bidding." Sarah frowned, unable to miss the biting sarcasm in his words. "What would you like? The rooms of an Arabian queen?"

A flick of his long fingers and the drab room wavered. Multi-colored columns twisted up from the floor. A soft rug with an intricate circle pattern in bold purples, blues, and yellows unfurled beneath her feet. Sheer swaths of fabric in the same colors fluttered from the ceiling, around the columns, and over the long, wide windows stretching into shape. The material canopied the bed and pooled to the floor with the bright gold and pink satin sheets. Elaborate ornamental designs curled around the edges of the windows.

Sarah held her breath and tried not to feel queasy as she waited for everything to stop moving.

"Or perhaps you'd prefer something more traditional."

Another flick, an almost absent movement of those pianist fingers. The ceiling shot up, the windows shrank. The bed shortened and dark posts spiked down from the ceiling like stalactites, along with a gaudy chandelier complete with flickering candles. Dark purple and black damask flowed down the posts, draped over the large wooden headboard. Smooth, dark wood soaked up the brightly colored rug. The windows filled with silver and turned into large oval mirrors in ornate frames.

Compared to the last room, this one was stark, almost cold, but beautiful nonetheless.

"Still not satisfied?"

Sarah managed to close her mouth before looking at Jareth. "You don't have to show off to impress me, Goblin King," she said. His eyes narrowed. "I promise, I'm greatly intimidated by you already."

"What you are is an insolent woman," he replied, voice full of danger. The walls and furniture returned to their shabby state as Jareth stood and took a step toward her. The temperature dropped and Sarah fought the urge to back away from the dark shadows seeping into Jareth's eyes. "You would do well to remember who holds the power here."

Her fingers found the amulet under her shirt and bunched the cloth as they curled around the metal. "We both would, I think," she said.

Jareth's eyes flickered toward her hand and, just for a moment, admiration crossed his face. Then, his nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a thin line. "Touché, princess," he muttered.

Sarah made a face at the nickname. "Quit calling me that." She shifted her weight and glared when Jareth smiled, no doubt amused by her annoyance. "What are you doing here, anyway? Come to show me more about how I'm going to end up killing myself?" She froze and looked around in alarm. "I'm not standing on the edge of a cliff or something, am I?"

Jareth snorted lightly. "No," he said. "You're safe and sound in that sorry excuse for a bed." Sarah let out a small breath of relief. "For now," he added.

"You're like a ray of sunshine in my life, you know that?"

The surprise lighting Jareth's eyes disappeared into a speculative gleam when Sarah smiled derisively, and she wondered if he could see through her sarcastic words and expression. Because as soon as she'd heard the crushed velvet tones of his voice melt through the darkness, unexpected relief had raced through her veins while a strange, terrible kind of excitement had fluttered through her stomach.

She tried her hardest not to let _him_ know that, though.

But maybe he already knew. He studied her for a long, serious moment...then turned away—just not quickly enough to hide the soft smile curving his lips. And it caught Sarah's breath. For once, it wasn't stiffly condescending or snidely amused. The honesty of the emotion amazed Sarah. And confused her. The Goblin King was like a force of nature straining against the confines of a human-shaped body. He was volatile as fire, capricious as wind, and just as unpredictable and deadly as either.

A dangerous thing, Sarah realized. Even more dangerous to allow herself to think of him like he was merely a man, to crave more of those genuine expressions.

To react to him as though he was ordinary.

"She's stealing from you, this witch you're staying with," Jareth finally said.

He was inspecting the frame of her bed with more scrutiny than the shoddy piece of furniture warranted. Which was just fine because Sarah was struggling to focus on the problem at hand.

"What could she take from me?" Sarah asked. "My PowerBars? She can have 'em. They taste like cardboard."

"Don't make light of this, Sarah." And Jareth's voice turned rigid and cool as he faced her again. "She's stealing your time."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. You can't steal..." She sucked in a breath, really _thinking_ about what Jareth was saying. "_Time_."

Every passing minute was one less spent looking for the Goblin King. Sarah had already wasted two days at the cottage almost without noticing. That meant she had...seven left.

"Where were you last _night_ to tell me this?" she grumbled. "We are seriously lacking in the communication department. I'm not sure this relationship is going to work out."

It was meant to be a joke, but the only thing really funny was how Jareth's stony visage melted into something closer to astonishment. Sarah wondered if she could turn this into a game—how many different faces could she get the Goblin King to make in one dream?

"I couldn't reach you last night," Jareth said, his tone sincerely apologetic—his voice soft and shivery, and doing confusing things to Sarah's heart and stomach. "It's a strain to be here now."

He turned his gaze on the walls around him. Pressed a bare hand against the rough stone and shook his head in irritation.

"You're close," he said. "I think."

He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he concentrated, then he growled deeply with frustration.

"I can't tell," he muttered. "There's a river nearby. Cross that and you'll be safe." When Sarah's mouth twisted with doubt, Jareth sighed. "There's much about this place you still need to learn, Sarah," he said. "Crossing water is the surest way to keep evil from following you." Her expression didn't change. Jareth sighed again. "Trust me."

Maybe it was his tone, this time—weary and perhaps a little melancholy—that made Sarah realize on some level, she _did_ trust him, now. He may only be keeping her alive because he needed rescuing from the pickle he was in, but Sarah tried to keep in mind that at least he _was_ keeping her alive. And, right now, it was enough for her. She'd address the selfish reasons behind it later.

"I don't know if it's the magic of the forest or what she's done to this shack," Jareth continued. And his voice had reverted back to businesslike boredom. "But it's hard for me to find you. She's strong, this witch whose clutches you've fallen into."

"Hold on a minute, I didn't fall into anyone's _clut__—_"

"Have you eaten anything?" Jareth interrupted.

Annoyed, Sarah shook her head before the question registered. "A bite of stew," she reluctantly admitted. Jareth's expression became frighteningly serious.

"It may have been enough," he murmured, almost to himself.

"For what?" When he didn't answer, Sarah took a step toward him, hoping she looked as threatening as he sometimes did. "Enough for _what_, Jareth?"

He looked like he was straining not to say anything. "Enough for her to make you forget," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Forget..." Sarah stared at him. Memory tampering food? Boy, that sounded familiar. "Like you did?"

"Like I _almost_ did," Jareth corrected. His mouth twisted into a beautiful sneer. "But, you know, your will was stronger and all that."

An emotion Sarah couldn't identify streaked gold through the grey-blue of his eyes. He turned away from her again before she could catch more than a glimpse. Sarah quelled a surge of frustration.

"It's a dodgy bit of magic," he said, "manipulating someone's memories. But if you were strong enough to defeat me, then you'll easily overpower such an inferior foe."

"The problem is remembering that," Sarah pointed out.

Jareth nodded. "Unfortunately, there's not much I can do from here," he said, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. "Trust that the amulet I gave you will keep you safe."

Sarah pulled the piece of jewelry from under her shirt and held it up. It twisted gently on the chain, the faint light in the room casting shadows into the small indention on the front.

"It's missing a piece," she said, curiously. She ran her thumb over the circular indention, wondering how she hadn't noticed it before.

"Yes."

Jareth's short answer made her turn her questioning gaze on him. "What goes here?" It would be a perfect circle, a little bigger than her thumbnail. _Something __easily __misplaced,_ she thought with dismay. Had she lost it while traveling? But if that were the case, why hadn't Jareth mentioned it before? Surely, he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to scold her.

"Something you don't need to worry about," Jareth snapped. "Right now, you should be more concerned with getting out of this trap you so willingly walked into."

Sarah tucked the necklace back under her shirt and gave the Goblin King a pleasant smile—which only grew when he regarded her warily. "One day," she said, "when I'm not under the pressure of being killed or kidnapped, and you're feeling particularly chatty, we're going to have a long talk about all these secrets you like keeping from me, Goblin King."

Jareth's mood instantly changed—she could feel it in how the air warmed around them, saw it in the swirl of amusement in his eyes. "Only if you're _very_ persuasive," he drawled.

The silky promises in his voice made every inch of her tingle. She looked away, licked her lips, and took a slow breath. Jareth's presence suddenly seemed too much for the tiny room. Raw, sensual energy radiated from him as easily as heat from the sun, and there just wasn't enough space to contain the wild tension sparking through the air between them. The intensity of his gaze as he watched her take another slow, deep breath was like the warm kiss of summer against her skin. And a reckless part of her wanted to find out how long she could keep her head above water in the maelstrom that was Jareth. Because it was sure to be a fervently passionate ride.

_Get __a _grip_,__Williams._

"So," Sarah muttered, licking her lips again, trying to find moisture somewhere in her mouth. "Suggestions?"

Jareth's expression was bland again. "Most of the time, the only way to break the compulsion is to kill the sorcerer," he told her.

"I'm not killing anyone, Jareth," she said, firmly.

He shrugged. "Good luck, then."

Sarah's eyes snapped open and she stared up at the ceiling above the straw bed she lay in. Funny, she didn't remember that small crack spidering out of the corner...

The sun still lingered beneath the horizon as Sarah stumbled from the small room she shared with Talia, careful not to trip over the sleeping girl. The old woman wasn't in the main room, but a soft sound outside drew Sarah's attention to one of the back windows. Peering out into dawn's watery light, she saw the hag's silhouette in the middle of the garden. Her cane was propped against one hip, her hands were in the air. The long sleeves of her robe had fallen back, revealing knobby elbows and pasty skin. Her mouth moved and Sarah strained to hear what she was saying.

"Weeds of this garden, weeds of this garden, spring up, spring up. Work of this garden, work of this garden, disappear, disappear."

All around the woman, snarls of green pushed through the dark earth between the flowers and vegetables, until the garden was once again overgrown—all of which Sarah and Talia had cleared the day before. In an instant, the hag undid hours of labor.

And Sarah felt...nothing.

She walked away from the window and sat at the kitchen table. Chewing slowly on a piece of day-old bread left in the wicker basket, she mulled over her reaction. She knew _how_ she should feel. And it was there...somewhere...banked deep below the surface. She thought, maybe, if it was freed, it would explode from her in a fiery blaze. She recalled the intensity of burning anger, but she seemed so far removed from it, now.

"It's good to see you eating, Sarah."

Sarah turned and smiled at the old woman as she walked into the house. "Should I wake Talia?" she asked.

The hog nodded. "There's much to be done, today," she said. "Start with the garden."

As soon as Talia had been roused and had her breakfast, the two younger women started their work at the back of the house. They spoke softly to each other, covering their laughter with their hands so the sound wouldn't carry into the house.

"Auntie disapproves of merriment while doing chores," Talia told her as they walked to the creek to wash up. "It's meant to be work, not fun."

They spent longer at the little stream than they had the day before, idly lounging in a patch of warm sunlight gallantly breaking through the thick canopy of leaves. Sprawled in the lush, cool grass, Sarah..._felt_. It was as though the thick haze of apathy had evaporated.

"What happened to your love, Talia?" Sarah asked, softly.

The other woman was quiet for a long moment. Then, she sighed. "He died," she answered, simply. "A long time ago." She paused, then said, "When I was just a babe, the faeries told Auntie one day I would be in great peril from an enchanted piece of flax. She did everything she could to protect me, but it was all in vain. What those meddling creatures failed to predict was that, after the spell was broken, a worse fate awaited me." Talia rolled onto her stomach and turned her face toward Sarah. "I had two children, you know. Child as beautiful and radiant as the sun and moon. When I took them to their father, I found he was already married."

"Uh oh," Sarah murmured.

Talia nodded. She plucked at a stalk of grass. "His wife wasn't pleased to find me on their doorstep," she whispered.

"Understandable," Sarah said. "I take it she sent you on your way?"

"Oh, no," Talia said, shaking her head. "She killed my children, fed them to their father, then stitched my eyes shut." Sarah sat up with a gasp of horror. Talia's pretty mouth pressed into a firm line and Sarah briefly wondered if the girl could cry. "She cursed me to an eternity of blindness. I remember..." A soft, shuddering breath. "I remember her laughter, an evil, wicked sound. Auntie says she was jealous of my beauty, that people do and say cruel things when they want something terribly."

It was a mad, twisted fairytale she'd stumbled into, Sarah realized.

"What is that pendant hanging around your neck, Sarah?"

Sarah's fingers instinctively curled around the horned amulet under her shirt. "How did you...?"

"Auntie mentioned it to me," Talia said with a small shrug. "She said I should steal it from you." She rested her chin in the palm of one hand and frowned. "But I don't like taking things from people. It must be very valuable if Auntie wants it."

The curve of the medallion pressed into Sarah's hand. _"Trust __that __the__ amulet __I __gave __you __will __keep __you __safe."_

A flash at the corner of her eye caught Sarah's attention. When she turned, she saw the sun glinting from...not a river, but the creek.

_Close enough for me._

"We should be getting back," Talia said. She stood and brushed off her skirts. "Auntie will worry."

"Talia..." Sarah hesitated when the other woman turned unerringly toward her. "Talia, have you ever thought about leaving here?"

A delicate crease marred Talia's forehead. "Leave?" she repeated.

"Yes, just walking away from your aunt and this place," Sarah said. "Going out and finding...something else."

Talia gave a lilting chuckle. "I can't leave, Sarah," she said.

"Yes, you—"

"I _can't_ leave, Sarah," Talia repeated, her voice wavering.

With a sigh, Sarah followed the other woman back to the cottage, slowly. She should have just said screw it and left her belongings behind. Because as they drew closer to the shabby house, the numbness crept back into Sarah's chest until she was left feeling as empty as a doll.

_Almost_, a whispering voice said. And the amulet warmed slightly against her skin.

"There you two loverly things are," came the rasp of the old woman's voice. "I was beginning to fear the wolves had run off with your mutilated bodies."

"Sarah and I were washing up," Talia assured. She patted the older woman's hand affectionately. "I'll pick some lavender for the bread."

"There's a clog in the chimney, Sarah, dear," the hag said, limping toward the house. Sarah obediently followed her inside. "Please take care of it."

That muted voice in her head screamed for her to run to the bedroom, get her things, and get the hell out of this nightmare. But it was so _faint_. It was easier to walk woodenly toward the fireplace, stopping only when she felt intense heat licking against her skin. Digging her heels in, Sarah came to a jerky halt.

"I'm sorry, Auntie," she said. "But I'm not sure what to do."

"Worthless child," the hag muttered. She shuffled across the room and stood next to Sarah. "You simply take this," and she picked up the iron poker next to the fireplace, "and stick it up there until the obstruction comes out."

It was like moving through tar, trying to get her arms to follow the command of her brain. But Sarah ground her teeth together and strained against the compulsion.

As soon as she touched the witch's bony shoulders, the air _snapped_.

And Sarah _shoved_.

The hag screamed as she tumbled into the fire. Embers exploded from the hearth, burned holes in Sarah's shirt and sizzled against her skin. She quickly brushed them off and stumbled toward the bedroom.

"Gretel ain't got nothing on me," she whooped triumphantly. As she slung her pack over her shoulders, she heard the front door slam open and Talia's soft cry of confusion.

Sarah dashed from the room, intending on making a run for it, but came to an uncertain halt. Talia blocked the entrance, wringing her hands helplessly as the hag extracted herself from the fire. The old woman's hair and clothes smoldered. The smell of burned flesh cut through the scent of baking bread, nearly making Sarah gag.

The witch's eyes glowed with anger when she caught sight of Sarah. She pointed a gnarled finger. "Kill her," the woman choked out to Talia.

The blind woman turned in Sarah's direction. A contrite frown touched her pretty mouth. "I'm sorry, Sar—"

But Sarah was in motion again. She rushed toward Talia, ramming her shoulder into the other woman's stomach as she tackled her to the floor. Sarah heard Talia's breath whoosh out of her—and the loud _crack_ of the younger woman's head as it bounced against the hard surface. She went limp and panic spike through Sarah.

_Oh,__ God, __I __didn't __mean __to_ kill _her!_

She placed a hand over Talia's mouth and let out a breath of relief when warm air stirred against her palm.

_Now, for the Wicked Witch of the—_

A scream of fury raised the hairs on the nape of Sarah's neck. Instinctively, she scrambled off Talia's prone form just as the witch ran toward her, iron poker in hand. The business end of the tool stabbed through Sarah's shirt, grazed her skin and barely missed going through her abdomen as she rolled awkwardly onto her back.

Sarah lashed out with her foot, kicked the hag in the leg _hard_, the crawled away. She pushed to her feet—let out a yelp when someone jerked on her backpack and brought her to the ground again. With a surprised gasp, Sarah found herself looking up into Talia's stitched eyes.

"I'm so very sorry, Sarah," the girl whispered. "But you can't leave. Ever."

"The hell I can't," Sarah snarled.

She punched the heel of her hand into the other woman's face. Talia cried out. Sarah quickly clambered to her feet—

—and screamed as red agony seared through her shoulder. Unable to see through the white-hot pain, Sarah struck out toward the source. Her fingers curled around unyielding iron and she _yanked_. The witch screeched like a lunatic and Sarah blindly swung the poker in the direction of the sound. There was a sickening _thud_ as it found its target. Warm stickiness spattered over Sarah's hands.

Blinking the pain from her vision, Sarah found the hag on her knees, one hand pressed against her head. Blood trickled through her fingers and down her neck.

"Insolent child," the hag spat. "I should have slit your throat when I had the chance. Look what you've done to my poor Talia."

Sarah shuffled to the side a bit so she could look at the younger woman while keeping the witch in view. Talia's mouth and chin were bright crimson, but she'd already managed to partially staunch the flow of blood from her broken nose. Sarah shrugged—winced when the gesture pulled unbearably at the wound on her shoulder. These two women weren't the victims, here, and this certainly wasn't _Sarah's_ fault.

"What you _should _have done was given me directions and sent me on my way," Sarah said. She waved the poker menacingly when the witch shifted to ride. "Stay _right __there_. I'm going to talk out of this house and neither of you are going to follow me. Got it?"

Talia nodded. The hag glared.

"Before the night is over, before the day is through, I will curse you, Sarah Williams," the witch said. She leaned over and drew her finger across the floor, making strange—almost _familiar__—_symbols in the ash covering the stone.

"Stop that," Sarah warned.

A whispered chant began to fall from the witch's lips.

"Stop," Sarah said again.

The hag's words twisted malignantly through the air. Magic tingled through the room, uncomfortably itchy magic that made Sarah feel unclean.

"_Stop!_"

"Shut your pretty mouth before I sew it closed," the hag snapped. She smirked. "Then wouldn't you two make a loverly pair? Blind and mute. I should have thought of this years ago when I placed the curse on my Talia."

"Are you saying..._you're_ the one who did this to her?" Sarah asked, her tone filling with horror.

The witch cackled hoarsely. Talia sucked in a sharp breath. "That laugh..." the younger woman whispered. Her brow furrowed. "I remember that laugh."

"I couldn't have my loverly _leaving_ me," the hag said, almost gleefully. She resumed drawing on the floor. "That stupid prince never even had a wife," she rasped, absently.

Sarah's limbs turned to lead. Alarm made her heart beat frantically when she realized she was slowly losing command over her body again.

The amulet under her shirt warmed until it was uncomfortably hot.

_"...the only way to break the compulsion is to kill the sorcerer..."_

"I'll bet you don't have to be dead," Sarah muttered. She took a dragging step forward, shifted the poker to hold it above her shoulder like a bat. "I'll bet you just have to be," another step, more jerky than the last, and she stood over the witch, "unconscious," she grunted.

She put all her weight behind the swing.

The old hag crumpled to the floor with a dull thump. The poker clattered loudly to the floor. Sarah stared at the fallen witch. The dark puddle spreading around her head gleamed wetly in the light of the fire.

"When she wakes, she'll not hesitate to kill you," Talia whispered, making Sarah jump.

She looked at the blind woman, who still knelt on the floor. "Come with me, Talia," Sarah said. The girl shook her head. "Your aunt is abusive and cruel, and you deserve better than this...hovel. Come with me. We'll find someone to help you."

But Talia shook her head again. "I can't leave," she said, softly. "Not yet. But you can. Go, Sarah."

When she hesitated, Talia reach out and wrapped her fingers around the poker. "I'll find a way to help you," Sarah promised, backing toward the door.

A sparkling tear slid through the blood on Talia's face and she nodded. "_Go_, Sarah," she said.

The witch groaned. Stirred.

Sarah ran—out the wide open door and through the garden. She hurdled the fragrant rose bushes and dodged hawthorns, catapulted into the forest. Holding up her arms to keep low branches from whipping against her face, Sarah ran for her life.

She ignored the throb of pain in her shoulder as she splashed through the stream. On the other side, she came to a panting halt. Bending over, hands on her knees, Sarah gulped in air, listened for any sounds of pursuit, and scanned the forest ahead.

Feeling safe enough for now, she took a moment to inspect the injury on her side and found it was nothing more than a scratch. The wound on her shoulder, though, was deep enough she could probably fit her pinky in up to the first knuckle. "Crazy old bitch," she hissed as she washed the blood off. She found a handkerchief in her pack, tied it tightly around the wound, then contemplated her options.

"'In _that_ direction lives a Hatter, and in _that_ direction, lives a March Hare. Visit either you like; they're both mad,'" she muttered, looking up and down the stream.

It looked like easier going to her left. Hooking her thumbs under the straps of her backpack, Sarah followed the stream toward the setting sun, hoping that, if she ran across anyone in _this_ direction, they'd be a bit more sane.

* * *

**A/N:** (long one this time, sorry!) As far as I can tell, the oldest variant of _Sleeping __Beauty_ was Italian in origin and called _Sun, __Moon ,__and__ Talia_, collected (not written) by Giambattista Basile, and is actually a part of a larger story. While Talia's eyes weren't stitched closed and her children were never killed, it's still a bit darker than the more popular version the Grimm brothers collected (the prince wasn't so charming, for starters...). You can find the link to it on my author's page, if interested, as an Obscure Fairytale, since many people may not know it...

**Chapter**** Title:**I couldn't, for the life of me, remember where I'd come up with this chapter title. Originally, I'd thought it must be Shakespeare or the like. Turns out, it's the title for a short story by Kathe Koja from _Snow__ White, __Blood __Red,_ one of my favorite collections of re-told fairy tales. It includes _The __Moon __Is __Drowning__ While __I__ Sleep_, by Charles de Lint (the best—and maybe the only...—re-telling of _The__ Buried __Moon_ I've ever read), and _Troll __Bridge,_ by Neil Gaiman.


	13. In Visions of the Dark Night

In Visions of the Dark Night

Sarah wouldn't exactly say she _missed_ the cottage where she'd spent the last two nights. But as she huddled under her emergency blanket around her sorry excuse for a fire, she thought maybe should have had the presence of mind to steal a _real_ blanket.

Or two.

She threw a few more sticks onto the fire and stared at the yellowy-orange flames greedily consuming the wood. Too bad she couldn't be as excited about her dinner, she thought, munching on a handful of trail mix. At least she'd brought the kind with M&Ms—

_Snap!_

Sarah jumped to her feet. The foil blanket crinkled loudly as she whirled around. Blinking the bright tracers of light from her eyes, she tried to peer into the deep shadows. The silence stretched, making her more nervous. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck prickled.

Leaves rustled.

Sarah pulled the knife from her belt.

A small, furry animal with a bushy tail skittered into the ring of light. It turned beady eyes on her, made a _tchtch_ sound, then scampered away.

Sarah blew out a long breath and sat down again. Her camp lay on the top of a rise overlooking a shallow valley shrouded in darkness. It wasn't prime real estate, but it was better than sleeping in the forest...or in a tree.

It took so long for her nerves to settle, she thought she'd spend this night sleepless. She sat as still as possible, straining to hear every little noise. In the distance, a wolf howled.

Another answered.

And the sound was closer.

She eventually nodded off sitting up, knife clutched in her hand.

"You're not sleeping."

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "Obviously I am," she said.

She heard the grass stir as Jareth moved to stand over her but didn't open her eyes. "You're not sleeping _well_," he amended.

"I'm in danger of being eaten by wolves...or rabid nocturnal squirrels. How well would _you_ sleep in my position?"

Silence answered her. Curious, Sarah cracked an eye open and found the Goblin King staring down at her with a funny little smile on his face—a smile that made her warm and tingly all over. With a huff, Sarah pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them.

"It would help, you know, if you would at least give me some direction," she continued, in an effort to break the uncomfortable silence and ignore the heated weight of Jareth's gaze.

He settled next to her on the ground. She couldn't help admiring the long line of his body as he crossed his legs at the ankle and leaned back on his hands. "But you've been doing so well," he said.

She made a faintly doubtful _hm_ in the back of her throat, staring down at the dark valley below. "I don't even know where I am," she finally said. "So how am I supposed to know where I'm going?"

"At least you know who you are," Jareth murmured. While Sarah pondered the possibility of that note in his voice being genuine melancholy, he jutted his chin toward the valley. "Did you do that?" he asked.

Sarah followed the direction of his gaze. And drew in a soft breath. The tip of the sun broke over the farthest edge of the shadow-infested valley and touched off, not thick forest, but a sight more familiar to both people sitting on the hill.

_"Is that...the castle beyond the Goblin City?"_

This was nothing like the labyrinth Sarah had seen twelve years ago, though. That place had been full of bright shadows and golden highlights. The vegetation may have looked dried and dying, but the branches and leaves still seemed to thrive with sun-spun life, as though wrought from the finest gold, the shiniest bronze.

This labyrinth...Sarah tightened her arms around her legs and tried to contain a shiver. Where the light spilled across the maze, it still glittered, silver and shimmery, like it was covered with a fine coat of dew. But shadows of thick blue velvet hid the paths, the plants crawling delicately up and around the walls were carved from the richest ebony. It looked far more menacing than the last time she'd seen it from a similar vantage point.

"It's...changed," Sarah said.

"Because you've changed," Jareth said. His tone was impassive, but Sarah saw the glimmer of surprise in his eyes melt into satisfaction as he contemplated the alterations to his kingdom. "You've grown up, Sarah, and the Labyrinth has grown with you. When you first came to it, it reflected everything you needed and wanted—the shining, albeit somewhat dangerous place your childish imagination wished it to be. Now, however..."

"Now?" she prompted when he trailed off.

Jareth looked at her, smiled a grim sort of smile. "I think now you'll find it reflects the part of you that no longer believes in magic. The darker, harsher part that has come to realize life isn't fair and true fairy tales don't always have a happy ending."

Sarah watched daylight slowly crawl over the twisting maze as she thought about Jareth's answer. At fifteen, she'd thought parts of her travels through the Labyrinth had been terrifying. Looking back on it...they still seemed pretty scary. The shiver Sarah tried to hold back snaked down her spine with icy fingers. She didn't want to imagine what it would be like, now.

"Will I have to run it again?" she asked, softly.

"Not unless things go very poorly," Jareth said.

"And what's the likelihood they will?"

Jareth shrugged a shoulder. "We won't know until you find me."

The golden light of morning sparkled from his eyes when he tilted his head to look at her, making their usually stormy color a bright, clear blue. Sarah squashed the feeling stirring in her chest. Because he looked almost like Jake, with the sky caught in his eyes and that smile curving his lips.

"It's getting late," Jareth said. "Or early, depending on how you look at it, and you have a long day ahead of you." Sarah nodded, mutely. Jareth's smile grew fractionally. He reached over and placed the tip of his finger against her eyelid. Like before, his touch was electric as he wiped the grit of sleep from her eyes. "Good morning, Sarah," he whispered.

The beautiful dawning of the sun in her dream was just that—a dream. Sarah slogged miserably through rain all day after she woke up to it dripping coldly down her neck. She had a brief reprieve around mid-afternoon, long enough for her to eat a quick lunch, before the clouds overhead starting spitting on her again.

"This _sucks_," she griped. It was almost bad enough to make her wish she could control the weather.

Almost.

Just when she thought she might drown, she ran across a small wooden shack. She knocked on the door and, when no one answered, pushed it open with the tips of her fingers. Her flashlight, she'd been pleased to discover yesterday, worked spectacularly on this side of the mirror. She swept the white beam over the dark corners inside. Finding nothing amiss within the small, one room hut, Sarah stepped through the door.

The instant she crossed the threshold, the fireplace roared to life. Sarah jumped back toward the door. Her heart leaped into her throat, but her scream of terror tore its way passed the useless organ and burst from her mouth.

The flames settled into a quietly snapping fire. Sarah remained where she was, kept a death-grip on her flashlight in case she had to use it as a weapon. When it seemed as though nothing else would happen, she nervously eased her way farther into the hut. She didn't close the door, though. If something was going to jump out at her, she was going to brain it then run like hell.

A small table sat against one wall, near the fireplace and under a simple cupboard. Sarah carefully slid her way toward the rickety piece of furniture, keeping a wary eye on the other side of the shack in case anything decided to crawl from under the bed. Her hip bumped the table and she finally looked around. There wasn't much in the hut besides the furniture and a pile of wood in one corner. The cabinet held what might have once been potatoes but now looked more like bulbous trees, a plate, a knife, and a small pot.

A board nailed to the wall read: _A __haven __for __travelers __in __need. __If__ you__ have__ the__ means, __please __replace__ what __you __use._

Her spine lost some of its rigidness. Aside from the fire trick scaring the bajeezus out of her, there didn't seem to be anything here that would harm her.

She checked under the bed, just to make sure.

An hour later, Sarah was dry and happy once again. The rain plinked noisily on the wooden roof, and some of it snuck through small cracks in the ceiling, but the worst of the leaks seemed to be on the other side of the room. She used the pot from the cupboard to boil water for the dehydrated soup in her pack. After dinner, she brewed some tea and sipped it lazily in front of the fire.

"A really good book, a pair of thick, fuzzy socks, and I'd be in heaven," she murmured with a smile.

She made sure to finish her tea before rearranging her backpack so it would make a more comfortable pillow. The floor wasn't an ideal bed, but the one against the wall was soaked, and at least the floor was clean. She pulled her emergency blanket over her shoulders and drowsily watched the dancing flames.

"You wouldn't happen to have found a map in those overly large sleeves, would you?"

Sarah didn't have to open her eyes to know Jareth was in the room with her. She was surprised to find it easier to distinguish between reality and dreams. Something about how the air tasted...or maybe the shivery feeling in her chest...

She rolled over in time to see the Goblin King frowning at his shirt. "What's wrong with my sleeves?" he asked.

"Where I come from, men haven't dressed like that in..." She trailed off and pursed her lips as she examined his black, draping shirt, form-fitting pants, and his knee-high black boots. "Actually, I don't think men have ever dressed quite like that," she concluded.

"Obviously a society lacking good fashion sense," Jareth muttered. Sarah ducked her head to hide a grin. "As for a map..." She looked up again as he perched on the edge of the table. "I'm afraid I'm fresh out."

"There's a surprise."

Jareth glanced around the room, a slight frown touching his mouth. "Well, it's not exactly opulent, is it?" he said, running a bare hand over the rough wood he sat on. "I suppose it's better than nothing, though."

"It's dry and not full of lunatics," Sarah said. She sat up from her make-shift bed, smoothing her hair down and hoping she didn't have wrinkle marks on her face from her bag. "At this point, that's all I can wi—"

She almost said _wish __for_. Jareth peered at her, a curious expression on his face. Or maybe that was just the fire reflecting oddly from his eyes. She cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable under that penetrating gaze.

"Anyway, it's dry," she said, staring into the fire, hoping the flickering light would hide the color flushing over her neck.

"You already said that, Sarah."

She shrugged, refused to look when she heard him stand and move the three steps it took to cross the room.

"Sarah."

Her jaw tightened as her name whispered over her cheek.

"When you first found me, you said you tried not to think about me."

He paused. Sarah's face heated and she sat as still as possible. Of everything they'd talked about then, _that's_ what he chose to remember?

_Figures_.

"What did you mean?" he asked.

"Is this intended to stroke your ego, Goblin King?" she retorted.

His chuckle warmed her skin further and sounded a little lewd. "Are you avoiding the question?" he countered.

She didn't reply. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye when he sat down next to her...close enough the material from his sleeve brushed her arm.

"Then should I assume—?"

"It meant that I do, sometimes," Sarah snapped, cutting him off before he could come to any embarrassing conclusions.

Jareth frowned. "That's no kind of answer," he growled.

"It's the truth," she said with a shrug.

She could feel the cool touch of his scowl before the air heated again. He shifted, planted his hands on the ground and leaned toward her. And she _wasn't_ going to look at him...turned her head unwillingly and became all tangled up in the intensity of his eyes. Sarah hardly dared to breathe—there wasn't enough air in the room now, anyway—and tried very hard not to notice how close his mouth was.

"Before then, had you ever dreamt about me?" Jareth asked, softly. "And to clarify, I mean _dreams_, not nightmares."

_More than I'd ever admit._

Sarah hoped the smug look spreading over Jareth's face didn't mean he'd suddenly become a mind-reader.

"I don't have to read your mind to know what you're thinking, Sarah," he murmured. He leaned closer and she could feel the warmth of his lips hovering over her cheek. "Your face is so expressive to those who know what to look for."

"Then why do I need to answer?"

His chuckle skittered across her skin like a smoldering caress. "Because I'd like to hear you say it," he told her.

He raised a hand to trace the air over her lips, careful not to let skin touch skin. But his body moved closer, a firm line of hot sin brushing a hair's breadth from hers. This definitely wasn't the Goblin King she'd encountered twelve years ago. This was the new and improved version, one that had the potential to be R-rated, for adult eyes only.

"Answer the question, Sarah."

_There was a question?_

"Have you dreamt about me before?"

Sarah licked her lips; Jareth's gaze flickered toward the movement. A tortured gleam shot through his eyes and the expression pulled the answer from her lips.

"Yes," Sarah whispered. "I dreamed about you before all of this."

"Even when you were with someone else?"

Her brain frantically tried to keep everything under control. Because some very basic part of her was _aching_ to touch him. To throw herself into his arms and mold every curve to all his tight, hard planes.

"Sometimes," she breathed.

And she couldn't stop giving him more information than absolutely _necessary_.

Jareth smirked. He wrapped a thick lock of her hair around his finger—gave a sharp tug, forcing Sarah's chin up. "And what did we do in these dreams of yours?" he murmured. "Talk? Have dinner?"

He lowered his head, wisps of his flyaway hair tickling her cheek, but stopped again before his mouth touched her skin. He inhaled deeply. Sarah closed her eyes, her breath coming short and shallow.

"We...we..."

There was no way she could form a complete sentence with him so close. Between the heat of the fire, the fire in her veins, and the heat of the Goblin King next to her, she was going to pass out.

The brief silence between them quivered like a string pulled taut. Thrummed as though it had been lightly plucked as Jareth salaciously whispered, "Danced?"

Sarah's eyes snapped open and she shoved against Jareth's chest. He fell back gracelessly, barely caught himself before he sprawled onto the floor. A dark, angry glimmer filled his eyes.

Then, he smiled, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

"What I dream about is none of your goddamn business." A shame her voice was too breathy to sound properly annoyed.

Jareth shrugged and smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his shirt as he sat up again. "You gave your answers freely," he said, without a trace of compunction.

Sarah glowered at him. Suppressed the urge to fan herself. When had the room become so damn _hot_?

"Is this why you came here tonight?" she growled. "To harass me about _dreams_?" She huffed and stretched out on the floor again, yanking her blanket up to her chin. "If you're not going to be any help, then just leave."

_"If that's all the help you're going to be, then you can just leave..."_

A thoughtful silence answered her. "Sleep well, Sarah," Jareth finally said, softly.

She squeezed her eyes shut, ground her teeth together—attempted to squash the emotion stirring at the sound of his silk and gravel voice.

Waking was a relief, because she didn't want to deal with everything that sprang up in her chest when Jareth was around. Should she feel guilty for the electric attraction she felt for him when her husband had been gone merely a year? What did she really know about Jareth, anyway, besides the fact that he was tricky and maybe a bit dangerous?

Perhaps that was the crux of her uncertainty—all she had were memories skewed by a teenager's perspective. The Goblin King had shown up at an awkward stage in her life, at a time when she was a child on the threshold of becoming an adult. The crystal dream had shown her all the complicated emotions that came with growing up; had shown her how not ready she was to cross over into that world. Not then.

She was there now, though, and the complexities hadn't simplified any with age. She thought she'd grown out of her fascination with bad boys—it was one of the many reasons she'd fallen in love with Jake, after all. But rational thought flew out the window where Jareth was concerned. Sarah knew, _knew_, he'd consume her, as surely as the flame would burn the moth, yet she couldn't help but be drawn to him.

_Here's__ a __thought__—__maybe __he __doesn't __like_ you_. __Maybe __getting __you__ all __hot __and __bothered__ is __just __a__ ploy __to __keep __you __looking __for__ him. __Did __you __ever __think__ of __that,__ Williams? __Maybe __it's__ all__ just __another __game..._

"Did you even think it didn't matter because he's a freakin' _dream_?" she snarled as she pushed her way out of the shabby hut.

The rain had stopped, but the air was thick with moisture, still. Sarah's sour mood from the previous day returned and she groused at anything within range—the swarm of gnats descending on her, the unfortunate pebble in her way...the man walking out of the trees—

Sarah came to a startled halt as a tall man melted from the edge of the forest. She tried to unobtrusively pull the knife from her belt. The man stopped and held his hands up.

"I mean you no harm," he said, standing very still. "I saw you traveling the road and thought I'd warn you the way ahead was washed out by last night's rain." Sarah glanced down the path she was following and frowned doubtfully. "You'll have to go around if you want to continue in that direction."

"Is there a path through the woods?"

The man nodded. "There is," he said. "It's hard to find, but it's there." He hesitated. "I could guide you, if you like."

Sarah eyes narrowed, wary of the offer. "What do you want in exchange?"

"Nothing," he said, spreading his hands. "I'm headed in that direction myself and would be glad of the company."

Sarah shifted her weight uncertainly. She was a woman, traveling alone in a land she was unfamiliar with—at this point, she'd broken so many rules of _Women's __Safety__101_, what was one more?

Besides, the guy didn't look particularly menacing. He was broad in the shoulder, slim in the waist. The sleeveless tunic he wore was a drab green and showed off tanned, lightly muscled arms. The only weapon she saw was the knife sheath on his belt, next to which hung a small box. But he had a kind face, large doe-like eyes, and an open, if somewhat tentative, smile. And, unlike when she'd met Talia, there was no niggle of worry or doubt.

The big thing was he didn't ask for anything in return, which had been one of Jareth's rules. As long as she stayed on the path, she should be fine.

_Hopefully,_ she thought.

With a deep breath, Sarah nodded. "All right," she said. "But no funny stuff. I've got a yellow belt in judo." He gave her a puzzled look. "I'll kick your ass," she clarified, grateful he had no idea what judo was, let alone its ranking system.

"Fair enough," he said. She gave him points for not smiling or laughing at her for threatening him. Sarah followed the trail where it branched toward the woods and briefly grasped the man's hand when he held it out to her. "Name's Grosvenor."

"Sarah."

"Pleased to meet you," Grosvenor said, grinning. He touched his fingers to his chest and tipped his chin down in a slight nod.

_Handsome _and _charming,_ Sarah thought, and answered his grin with one of her own.

Grosvenor, she came to find, moved through the woods like he was a part of them. And what she had first thought was simply faded green clothing was really camouflage, which made him nearly invisible if she lagged too far behind. He set a quick pace, regularly checking to make sure she was keeping up.

"Are you out here hunting?" Sarah asked as she scrambled over a fallen tree trunk, more to make conversation than any real interest. She waved away his hand and jumped down from the stump.

Grosvenor hesitated before answering. "You could say that," he replied.

She barely noticed his vague reply, concentrating on not tripping over hidden branches on the ground. "What are you after? Rabbits? Deer?" She watched the way he moved expertly through the thick undergrowth and trees. _Bambi __and __Thumper __wouldn't__ stand__ a __chance __against __this __guy_.

"No," he said. He paused and, as he did every dozen yards or so, eyed the thick wood to make sure they still followed the path. The smile he gave Sarah when she came to a halt next to him was dark and grim and prickled against the nape of her neck.

And his answer made the blood freeze in her veins.

"I'm hunting a princess."

* * *

**Chapter**** Title:** "In visions of the dark night/I have dreamed of joy departed-/But a waking dream of life and light/Hath left me broken-hearted." _A __Dream_, by Edgar Allan Poe


	14. Never Let A Kiss Fool You

Never Let a Kiss Fool You

Sarah leaned back on a fallen tree stump and tried not to choke on her dinner as she laughed. Not only was Grosvenor a wonderful guide, he was also proving to be an entertaining storyteller. He seemed to have had an unlimited number of rollicking adventures, some of which Sarah thought maybe he'd embellished for her benefit, but were amusing nonetheless.

"—she held me up at knife point and demanded my horse," Grosvenor was saying.

"And then?" Sarah asked.

Grosvenor shrugged a shoulder. "What else could I do? The lady was being quite stubborn on the matter," he said. Sarah put a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles, and the hunter sitting across from her grinned. "I decided I valued the more...delicate parts of myself more than my horse, so I graciously allowed her to take him. Meanest I've ever met, by the way," he added with a mock somber shake of his head.

"The lady or the horse?" Sarah asked around snorts of laughter.

Grosvenor's smile turned playful, but he didn't answer. "I came upon her an hour later, sitting next to the road and covered in mud," he said. He poked the fire between them, making it crackle and snap. "My horse was a little farther along, happily eating a patch of clover he'd found."

Sarah leaned forward. "What did you do?"

"I threw the lady over my saddle and took her—yelling and screaming, mind you—to the nearest constable. Told her, the _next_ time she decided to steal someone's horse and all their worldly possessions, she'd better make sure she could get away with it."

Sarah chuckled. "Is there anything you haven't done?" she asked.

Grosvenor shrugged and poked the fire again. A log collapsed, sending up ribbons of bright sparks that illuminated the smoke. "I've always wanted to try my hand at sailing," he said. When he looked at her, the flames made his eyes dance. "Although, I'm not a very good swimmer, so..."

"Storms could be a problem," Sarah said, grinning. "All that water everywhere."

Grosvenor laughed. "That they would," he agreed with a nod. "I think I'm better sticking to land."

"So, what's in the box? If you don't mind me asking, that is," she hastily added, apologetically. She hadn't been able to stop the query. She'd been eyeing the small object most of the night, wondering what it contained and why the hunter seemed so protective of it.

Grosvenor held up the box, allowing the firelight to play off the swirling designs carved into it. He slid the top off and Sarah shifted forward as he tilted the container in her direction. The contents reflected the red-orange glow around them. Sarah's brow furrowed. "Is that...a mirror?"

"A piece of mirror," Grosvenor said, sliding the top back into place.

Sarah kept her sigh internal and propped her chin on her hands. "Does this have anything to do with the girl you're looking for?" she asked.

Surprise filled Grosvenor's eyes. "Yes," he said. He set the box down and rested his elbows on his knees. "This is part of my queen's looking glass—my _former_ queen's," he corrected with a grimace. "She was killed by her stepdaughter who, in a fit of rage, shattered the mirror and drove a piece through Her Majesty's heart. Before anyone knew what had happened, the girl had fled."

"Well, that's an interesting twist," Sarah murmured. "What do you plan to do when you find her?" When he didn't answer right away, Sarah swallowed. "Are you going to kill her?"

Grosvenor's expression became stony as he stared into the fire. "I'll do what I must," he said, softly.

The fire snapped in the silence that sprang up between them, as though emphasizing the hunter's words. A chill touched the back of Sarah's neck.

"You never told me why you're out here on your own," Grosvenor said, finally breaking the eerie tension in the air. He looked her over through the flames separating them. "You don't look like you're from around here."

Sarah gave a short, dry chuckle. "I'm not," she said. "Nowhere near here, as a matter of fact. I'm...looking for someone," she said. "A king who seems to have gotten himself into some kind of trouble. All I know is he's somewhere unpleasant, being held against his will, and he may be a little off his rocker."

"A king?" Grosvenor's expression shifted.

Sarah sat up, a spark of hope making her ask, "Have you heard of the Goblin King? Do you know where he is?" in quick succession.

Grosvenor's eyes widened. "You're searching for the Goblin King?" he asked. Sarah nodded and the hunter let out a soft breath. "Then that makes you the Travel—"

"Don't say it," she warned, holding up a hand to cut him off. "I'm not anything, I'm just Sarah."

The hunter blinked. Then leaned back and laughed. "Fair enough," he said. "Well, this is certainly a first for me." When Sarah gave him a questioning look, he smiled. "Not every day I get to sit in the presence of a heroine." He tilted his head to the side and his smile widened. "And a particularly lovely one, at that."

Sarah grinned at the compliment, but shook her head at yet another title being given to her. "I'm no hero, either," she said, firmly. "Why would you say that?"

"You really _aren't_ from around here," Grosvenor murmured. "My mother would tell me and my siblings of the hero as a bedtime tale. As a lad, the story fascinated me; I always imagined a woman riding up on her white steed to save the world."

Sarah leaned back and laughed. "I'm not here to save the _world_," she said. "Just a crazy king. Once that's done, I'm outta here," she added, jerking her thumb in an ambiguous direction.

Grosvenor contemplated her for a long moment, then shrugged. "I would suggest heading for the Black Tower," he said. "There have been rumors around it for years of strange happenings; people disappearing, the area around it twisting into something unnatural."

Kidnappings and screwy landscapes? _Yep, __that __sounds __like __the __Goblin __King,_ Sarah thought.

"It's quite a ways from here," Grosvenor added. "It will take you at least another three days."

"Three days?" When the hunter nodded, Sarah stared into the fire. If she was doing her math right, that gave her a two day cushion, which was better than she'd expected. If Jareth wasn't there, though...

_I __wonder__ what__ will __really__ happen __to __me __if__ I__ fail.__ Will __I__ be __stuck __here __or __just __return __to__ my __own __world? __Or__ will __Jareth __make__ good__ on__ his __threat __to__ kill __me?_ Sarah frowned. _How __can __he __kill __me __if __he's __locked __away? __Or __dead__ himself?_

"You think serious thoughts," Grosvenor murmured, breaking into Sarah's reverie.

She shrugged and smiled. "Not really," she assured. "Just wondering when my life became part of a fairy tale."

"You should rest," Grosvenor told her. "We'll start at dawn tomorrow."

Sarah winced at the thought of another long day of walking. But she nodded and curled up on the ground, pulled her emergency blanket over her shoulders and fell asleep listening to Grosvenor settle down for the night.

"Who is he?"

One dark eyebrow rose as Sarah looked at the Goblin King. "Who?" she asked.

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "Ignorance has never looked good on you, princess," he said with a sneer. "You know precisely whom I'm talking about."

Sarah turned her face to the sky, seemingly drinking in the light of the silvery moon, while trying not to let her amusement pull up the corners of her mouth.

"Oh, you mean Grosvenor?" she asked, nonchalantly. She raised one shoulder in a careless shrug. "He's a hunter," she said. "He's helping me through the forest." She paused, tilted her head down and considered Jareth from the corner of her eyes. "He's very..." She trailed off, then sighed dreamily. Dramatically.

Jareth's nostrils flared, his lips pinched into a tight, white line. "He's a pretentious, arrogant, overbearing, bumbling _fool_, that's what he is," Jareth snapped. "And he'll probably get you killed."

"Maybe," Sarah said. She glanced behind her in the direction she knew her camp lay. "But I don't really have any other choice. And, right now, he's keeping me quite warm." She looked at Jareth again in time to see gold lightening crackle through the ice blue of his eyes. She barely held back another grin. "What does it matter to you, anyway?" she asked. "Are you upset he's traveling with me?"

"Hardly," Jareth bit out. "I'm merely concerned for your safety. It would be most unfortunate if you died before finding me."

"Ah," Sarah murmured and nodded. "Of course." She turned around and started back to camp.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She glanced at Jareth sharply, not appreciating his tone. "Back to sleep," she replied, tartly. "Early start tomorrow and Grosvenor says we should travel as long as we can through the day." She gave Jareth a tooth-achingly sweet smile. "I'm sure you want me to be well rested."

Jareth's eyes narrowed until they were mere slits and his bare fingers curled into fists at his side. "Fine," he said, shortly. And rather like a petulant child, Sarah thought.

She let her expression soften, pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in a show of uncertainty. "Unless..." She paused, lowered her gaze. "Unless you don't want me to go."

Silence.

Then, "I could really care less what you do, princess."

"Except when it comes to finding you."

"Exactly."

"You have absolutely no desire to spend time with me."

"The very idea bores me."

"Which is why you feel the need to invade my dreams almost every night."

"Precis—"

Jareth cut himself off. Sarah struggled to keep her expression bland as his mouth hung open for a moment before snapping closed. His pursed his lips, cocked his head. Contemplated her.

A heart-stopping smile broke over his face. A throaty laugh of genuine amusement breached the fine line of his lips, shimmered through the air. Sarah gasped in a breath, swore she _tasted_ the smooth sparkles of his mirth. Good gods, no wonder he hid emotional responses behind that masks of indifference. He had to be careful throwing those smiles and laughs around or someone—namely Sarah—might start thinking of him as _human_.

Her lungs took a crash course on how to properly function again. Her brain and body fought about what she should do—remain where she was and wait out the wave of chuckles or give into the temptation to feel them flutter against her skin. Sarah was left rooted to the spot, trembling with indecision, liquid heat blossoming in her stomach and shooting through her veins.

"You have it backwards, Sarah," Jareth said. The smile still graced his lips, made his eyes twinkle. "You're the one who brings me here." A step in her direction. "Which makes me wonder if perhaps _you_ are the one who wishes to spend time with _me_." Another step.

"Keep your ego in your pants, Goblin King," Sarah said, feeling wildly out of control the closer he came. "I have about as much desire to be around you as you do me."

His smile didn't fade—it simply ceased to exist. And a small part of Sarah was a little more comfortable in the face of his customary stoicism.

Except a strange light entered Jareth's eyes, one that highlighted the stormy grey-blue with streaks of curiosity. The longer the silence lasted, the longer he stared at her, the more uneasy Sarah became. But she felt she'd lose a game she didn't know they'd been playing if she moved or looked away.

"If you don't want to see me any longer, then all you must do is banish me from the dream," Jareth told her, the soft, husky tone of his voice sliding over her skin.

"It's that easy?"

"Yes."

Sarah closed her eyes and thought about how much she didn't want to see the Goblin King when she opened them...

"You have to _wish_ for it, Sarah."

One side of her mouth twisted into a frown as she opened her eyes. She looked at Jareth, who still stood in front of her, patiently waiting. "I don't make wishes anymore," she said.

Silence again. And that curious light in his eyes shone a little brighter. "Never?"

"Never," she repeated, firmly.

Jareth stared at her for another long moment before shaking his head and shrugging. "You must want it, then, with all your being," he said.

Her eyes closed again—flew open when a feather-light touch brushed her cheek.

"Since I'm still here, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe my previous assertation was correct," Jareth said, fingers slowly withdrawing. Lingering against her skin for as long as possible.

Sarah's heart got all caught up in her voice, making her voice raspy as she said, "You wish."

"Perhaps," he whispered.

And she forgot how to breathe all over again.

"Were you telling the truth?" she asked, suddenly. When Jareth's brow began to crinkle, Sarah clarified, "When you said, before, how you'd thought of me every day since we'd last seen each other." A muscle in Jareth's cheek jumped and his eyes jerked away. "What did you mean?"

He looked at her—looked startled to find her so close. And, when he moved back a step, Sarah didn't know whether to feel triumphant that she'd forced him to retreat or chagrin that he didn't pull her against him.

"You love me."

Sarah opened her mouth to give an indignant retort—She most certainly did _not__—_then snapped it shut. Because Jareth's eyes were calm pools of midnight silver and there wasn't anything derisive about the line of his mouth.

"Not now," he added, almost offhandedly. "Later. After...all of this. It's why I'm here. Partly."

_Just __when __I __was __starting __to __think __he __was __sane,_ Sarah thought, a little ruefully. "Are you saying you think I'm going to fall in love with you?" she asked.

"I know you are."

For a moment, Sarah could only blink in the face of his bold statement. "Wow, that's not at _all_ conceited," she finally managed to sarcastically mutter. "You do realize it's highly unlikely I'm going to fall for someone who only gives me partial truths, has a history of being untrustworthy, and whose idea of a good time is terrorizing teenagers, right?"

Jareth closed his eyes and shook his head, his mouth pulling taut. "It's hard to explain."

"Of course it is. Of course you would make a completely random—and, I'll have you know, arrogantly presumptuous—statement, and then tell me it's _hard __to __ex__—_"

Jareth's long fingers tangling in her hair startled her into abrupt silence. He pulled her into him so she pressed against him from chest to thigh.

And he kissed her. Thoroughly.

Sarah always imagined Jareth would be an exceptional kisser, but her imagination hadn't prepared her for the reality of feeling his lips against hers. He took immediate control, just like she'd thought he would, and not just with his mouth. As the tip of his tongue slid teasingly against hers, his hands tilted her head at a better angle, encouraged her to melt into the long, firm line of his body. Her fingers curled into the loose material of his shirt, knowing she'd need something to hold onto when her knees gave out.

But she remained easily upright, which confused her. Because she's always thought kissing Jareth would be an all-consuming, breathtaking experience. Lightening, thunder, fireworks, something earth-shattering and life-altering. She thought his kiss would be a drug she'd become instantly addicted to; that he would leave her craving more. And, while she could feel sparks of attraction flickering between them, that was all she felt...aggravatingly faint sparks.

As kisses went, it was good—better than good—but it wasn't particularly extraordinary.

When Jareth pulled away, Sarah tried to hide her disappointment. He rested his forehead against hers and let out a low growl, voicing her frustration perfectly in the sound.

"You feel it, don't you?" he whispered against her lips. Sarah kept her eyes closed, refusing to make any noise because she knew it would fill the air with an aching need that hadn't been satisfied. "Like an annoying hum, just below the surface? An itch you can't scratch?" Sarah nodded. "It's the dream, the space between us," he said, softly. "I'm the one you love, but not the one you fall in love with."

Sarah opened her eyes and looked at Jareth with a puzzled expression. "That doesn't make any sense," she said, wincing when her voice came out husky. She cleared her throat and ignored Jareth's small grin. His kiss may not have knocked her socks off, but it still had an undeniable effect on her. "The unlikelihood of it aside, how can I love you but not fall in love with you?"

Jareth's grin widened. "One day," he told her, "after you've found me and I'm feeling particularly chatty, I'll explain everything." A teasing gleam entered his eyes as he gave her words from two night ago back, and Sarah couldn't help but smile. He reached up to twirl a lock of her hair around his fingers. "I promise."

She raised an eyebrow. "You _promise_?" she repeated, with mock incredulity. "One crappy kiss and suddenly you're making promises?"

Jareth pulled her against him again as he tilted his head back and laughed. The sound swirled around them warmly, vibrated deliciously under Sarah's hands and cheek, and she wondered how it was his laughter had more effect on her than his mouth.

"Why are you acting so different?" she asked.

His fingers paused in her hair and she could feel the cool weight of his gaze as he looked at her. "Because you wished it, Sarah," he said.

She tipped her chin up to frown at him. "I did not," she said. "I don't—"

"Make wishes. Yes, I know." But the way he smiled when he stepped away made Sarah think he was teasing her. "Time to sleep."

"You have an amazing ability to leave me with more questions than answers, Goblin King," she told him, ignoring the way she instantly missed his warmth and the feel of his fingers gently twining through her hair. "And I'm still not sure if you're telling me the truth or trying to manipulate me."

He kissed her again, a quick, soft brush of his mouth over hers. "Good morning, Sarah," he whispered against her lips.

Sarah opened her eyes and scowled at Grosvenor.

"Not a morning person?" the hunter asked.

Sarah kept her curses to herself.

Only to aim them toward the sky when it started raining.

* * *

He hadn't lied to her—he had never _lied_ to her. She was the one responsible for bringing him into their dreams.

What he failed to tell her was he came of his own accord because he couldn't resist. Because it was so tempting.

Because _she_ was so tempting.

He spent most of his time in a muzzy haze, only vaguely aware of where he was and what was happening around him. And he desperately tried to escape into something less horrifying whilst he slept.

In his dreams, he could see her. She started as a tiny speck of light on the edge of a dark horizon. A speck he was inextricably drawn to...for the promise of reprieve from the bone-numbing cold, for the hope she would chase away the shadows where his nightmares lurked.

For the company...

And as soon as he stepped into the circle of her light, as soon as it licked against him, it shaped him. Made him into a little more of what he'd once been. He couldn't help but feel some sort of gratitude toward her, even if she would never know. Because he wouldn't tell her. Couldn't tell her. Could never put into paltry words how much she did for him.

How much she _meant_ to him...

He had felt the wish—because she wished, no matter how hard she tried not to—as soon as it had flitted through her mind. And he'd felt the change. He'd felt the king, the villain, the _Other_, float away as carelessly as if they drifted on butterfly wings. He'd been left standing before her as nothing more—but certainly nothing _less__—_than a man. And it had made him say things he shouldn't, made him _do_ things he shouldn't. But he hadn't been able to resist tasting her, just to remind himself...

That was her magic; her ability to reshape the world around her. She had done it over and over again in his labyrinth. And it wasn't so much the _wishing_, it was simply her own force of will, her belief that whatever she imagined would come true.

It was fascinating and wonderful. And beautifully terrifying.

He had to redefine himself every time he was around her. And he loved it. _Craved_ it. It was always a new and exciting game. A new challenge, seeing if he could keep from her just how much she made him feel, how much he felt _for_ her. Because it wasn't the right time. She didn't even really know him in this time, was still struggling with all her memories of him from when she was fifteen. He knew because she'd told him before...after...Had it been tomorrow that she'd told him? Or yesterday?

Past, present, future became convoluted as consciousness burst harshly around him. Dull blue eyes opened to darkness and tremors gripped his muscles. With a shaking finger, he began compulsively tracing invisible patterns on the cold, damp wall.

"Her power over his powers..."

* * *

**Chapter ****Title:** The original is too long, but it was supposed to be "Never Let a Fool Kiss You or a Kiss Fool You," one of my favorite chiasmus :)


	15. With Eyes of Wrath and Wonder

With Eyes of Wrath and Wonder

_"Why are you acting so different?"_

_"Because you wished it so, Sarah."_

Sarah spent the next day trying to puzzle out various things she'd been told that hadn't made sense. The Goblin King had said this was a game—a serious game, she had quickly realized—but ever since she'd stepped through that blasted mirror, it had started to feel less like she was part of a game and more like something…bigger. Aughra and Grosvenor both called Sarah a hero, the hunter speaking of, but not going into detail about, a prophecy he now believed was about her. Jen and Kira spoke of Sarah being here to kill a queen—

_"You wound up here for a reason."_

—which, although she had no intention of killing anyone, meant whatever was going on was far more complicated than simply rescuing the Goblin King.

At the thought of him, her fingers unconsciously sought out the necklace hidden beneath her shirt. _"Everything __I __am,__ you __hold __in__ that __medallion."_ If he was crammed into a bit of metal, then who was she searching for?

_"Where are you taking me?"_

_"To me."_

_"What have you forgotten?"_

_"Everything."_

He'd said he was crazy when she'd first dreamed about him. But he never seemed to be lacking in sanity in her dreams…aside from him thinking she was going to fall in love with him. Which was just…absurd…

And none of it explained his change in attitude during their last dream. He had been so…_normal_…not the high and mighty king, not the dark, sinister villain. He'd just been…

"Jareth." His name passed through her lips in a whisper as she understood what had happened. She had been trying to get rid of the Goblin King and she'd been left with exactly that—the man instead of the king. He said she'd wished for it, but that wasn't it. Not really. She had simply…_wanted_ it.

_And __what's __the __difference__ between__ a __wish __and __a __desire?_ Sarah wondered. She scowled up at the sky, which continued to spit rain. _If __I __fervently __desired__ for__ it __to __stop __raining, __would __that __be __the __same __as __making __a__ wish?_

If that was the case, Sarah had serious problems. Was it even possible for someone to make it through life without wishing for _something_?

_If __I __had __wished__ for __that __kiss __to __be __better, __would __it __have __been?_ a sneaky little voice mused. Sarah shook her head and concentrated on not losing her balance in the mud. That wasn't the problem. _The __problem__ is__…__The __problem__ is __I__ don't __really __know__ what __the __problem__ is,_ she thought. _And __what __does __it __matter, __anyway?__ After __I __find __him, __I'm __going __home __and __that __will __be __that._

With this firm resolution, Sarah hooked her thumbs under the straps of her backpack and peered through the rain, looking for Grosvenor.

"It's getting slick," the hunter called over his shoulder. "Careful where you step."

They were on an incline, slowly inching their way down a miniature mountain—or so it seemed to Sarah. She slid a few feet forward unintentionally, stopped her momentum with a sapling, then slipped another foot down the trail. She wiped straggles of hair from her face. _At __least __the __rain __chased __away __the __gnats._ She'd been battling the tiny insects all day yesterday, colorfully commenting several times about how nice it would be if the annoying bugs would just _disappear__—_

Sarah came to a startled halt and watched the rain. "Oh," she breathed, a sound full of shocked realization. She'd wanted to get rid of the bugs, fiercely, and in light of her recent revelations it seemed like too much of a coincidence they were now gone. "No way," she whispered. A spark of anger lit in her and she felt like shaking her fist at the sky. She'd been so _careful_, had gone all these years without saying those words! "That's not how it's supposed to work! I didn't say 'I wish!'"

A low rumble vibrated through the air.

The ground wavered under Sarah's feet.

"Find something to hold onto!" Grosvenor shouted.

She whirled around to see what the hunter was staring at and gasped. The top of the hill slowly sloughed off, built speed as it flowed toward them. Sarah stumbled toward a tree, cursing as the unstable ground shifted beneath her.

The sound of the earth moving was like nothing she'd ever heard—a soft shushing followed by an almost deafening roar. Small rocks and pieces of wood pummeled against her as the mud and water gushed up around her. She wrapped her arms and legs around her tree and closed her eyes. Her arms quivered with strain, her fingernails dug into the bark as she tried to resist the forces pushing against her.

The water heaved up around her. Her fingers slipped. And a violent surge yanked her from her precarious tether.

Sarah screamed as she shot down the hill. Over the cacophony, she heard Grosvenor shout, felt his hands snag her backpack. She came to a neck-snapping halt. Until another powerful wave ripped her away from the hunter. She tried to dig her heels in, a frantic attempt to slow her momentum as she hurdled toward a large copse of trees, but there wasn't anything solid under her. The mudslide swept her into the thicket and, as the mud and water splashed into her face and mouth, as it slammed her into one tree after another, all she could do was wrap her arms around her head and pray she wouldn't die.

When the world righted itself and everything finally stilled, Sarah lay on her back and spit out a mouthful of silt. Her ears still rang and she opened tear-blurred eyes to glare up at the overcast sky, trying to suck something besides mud into her lungs. A shadow loomed over her and, squinting, she saw Grosvenor bending down, a worried expression on his handsome features.

"You're alive," he said, sounding a little amazed.

"Barely," Sarah croaked. She was amazed herself. "I think…" She sucked in a sharp breath with the hunter helped her sit up. "I think something happened to my shoulder."

Grosvenor gently ran his hands over the joint and nodded. "It's dislocated. This will be painful."

She ground her teeth together and braced herself as much as she could in the slime underneath her. Grosvenor rotated her arm slightly then jerked everything back into place. Sarah screamed hoarsely and black pinpoints dotted her vision. She fell back into the mud, panting and waiting for the red hot agony to subside into a dull throb.

"That _hurt_!" she yelled at the sky, as though it was the thick grey clouds' fault.

"On the plus side, you did find the fastest way down the mountain," Grosvenor said as he settled next to her.

Sarah's chuckle started as a broken sound coming from her raw throat. When it flourished into a hysterical giggle, Grosvenor sat her up again and handed her his water flask.

"You're shaking," he commented, that worried light entering his eyes again.

"M'fine," Sarah mumbled, clenching her jaw as fierce tremors seized her muscles.

Grosvenor gathered her in his arms, ignoring her protests, and carried her away from the wide swath of mud that had spewed over a good portion of the plain.

"I can walk," she insisted through chattering teeth, but she couldn't pretend she wasn't grateful to be tucked against his firm heat as he walked toward clean grass. He gently deposited her on the ground, told her to stay put, then jogged away toward the tree line.

Sarah slung her pack off her shoulders, pulled out her emergency blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Huddled in the foil, she closed her eyes and took a quick physical inventory. Her shoulder only twinged with pain if she rotated it, which she could live with. There didn't seem to be any other major injuries, which was nothing short of a miracle. She turned to look at the mud smeared down the hill. It had taken out a fifty yard-wide stretch of trees, making the hill look like it had a bald streak.

Sarah huddled farther into her blanket. Other than feeling like she'd been severely beaten with a blunt object over every inch of her body, she was fine. And, she thought, damn lucky to be alive.

_Funny,_ she thought, looking up at the sky, _that__ I'm __more __grateful __it's __not __raining __as __hard __than __anything__ else__… _

Grosvenor returned with an armload of kindling and thick logs. Dropping the wood onto the ground, he pulled out what looked like a large chunk of mushroom from his pocket.

"What…what is…that?" Sarah chattered.

"Tree fungus," Grosvenor told her as he gathered the kindling. He dug something out of the mushroom and carefully laid it in the middle of the tinder. "Used it to keep an ember from our last fire."

Sarah stared blankly at him. Looked down with amazement when smoke began curling from the pile of sticks. She suspected the hunter of using magic, but the wood quickly caught fire and she found all she really cared about was the warmth sinking into her bones.

"We should be safe enough here for the night," Grosvenor said, sitting down next to her. "You should eat something."

"PowerBars are in the pack," Sarah said, too tired to even reach forward. Grosvenor dug one out for her and peeled away the shiny wrapper. "Want one?" she asked as she wearily chewed on it.

The hunter shook his head and laughed. "I've seen the faces you make when you eat them," he said. "But I wouldn't mind having some of the nuts that you brought, the ones with the…what did you call them? Emenems?"

"M&Ms," she corrected with a chuckle. "Go for it."

They ate in silence for awhile before Grosvenor nodded toward a dark hill Sarah had been idly looking at. "That's the Black Tower," he told her. "We're about half a day's walk from it."

She stared at the smudge of darkness until Grosvenor suggested she get some rest. Curling as close to the fire as she dared, she fell asleep thinking, _Only __one __more __day __of __this__… _

The night was warm, the sky clear. Ghostly wisps of fog hovered over the plain, skirling playfully in soft breezes along the ground…the _dry_ ground, Sarah noticed as her bare feet sank into the grass.

"You made it stop raining," she said, turning to smile at Jareth.

He shook his head, looked quickly away from her expression. "That wasn't my doing," he told her.

Sarah shrugged, not really believing him, and wiggled her toes in the grass. He was quiet tonight, was keeping his distance from her. The Jareth from last night seemed to have disappeared with the rain, which was just as well. She'd come to the conclusion, after the distracting thoughts of him had nearly run her into several trees earlier in the day, that maybe she shouldn't ruminate too hard on how she felt about him touching her…kissing her…

"I'm making good time," she said, breaking the delicate silence. "Grosvenor says we're only about a day from the Black Tower." When Jareth didn't respond, she sighed. "Is that where you are? Because if not, we might have a serious problem."

Jareth gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Dammit, Jareth," Sarah swore in frustration. "I need something more to go on than vague directions. I know you think this is all fun and games, but it would be nice if you could give me an answer."

"I can't tell you something I don't know, Sarah." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and a derisive smile touched his lips. "That would perilously close to _lying_, now, wouldn't it?"

Sarah frowned at him. "Fine," she said. "But my luck seems to come in spurts, so don't get your hopes up that I'll make it in time."

"Time is relative," was Jareth's cryptic reply. "And you're not unlucky, Sarah," he said, a small chuckle lacing his words. "You simply have a wicked fairy godmother."

Sarah blinked. "Excuse me?" Surely she'd heard him wrong.

Jareth smiled and arched an eyebrow in elegant disbelief. "I'm surprised you don't know the basis for the stories."

"Oh, I do," she assured. "But I already met Sleeping Beauty and that wasn't a fairy godmother. That was a crazy old biddy with some serious abandonment issues and codependent tendencies." Jareth gave a delicate snort of amusement. "But just for fun, let's assume you're telling the truth—or the entire truth, anyway," she added, giving Jareth a wry grin, which he returned. "What are you saying? I'm cursed?"

The corner of his mouth hitched farther up. "Not quite. The person responsible for your misfortunes has taken a more active role than simple spell casting."

"Who's doing this?" Sarah demanded. Jareth's expression melted into that mocking smile and she growled. "Okay, are you saying…someone is _making_ these things happen to me?"

_"The accident and your injuries are regrettable, but were unforeseen."_

She pulled in a sharp breath. "Are you saying me getting hit by that car _wasn't_ really an accident?"

A bigger, more horrid thought pierced her chest, as painful as a thorn in her heart.

"That would mean Jake…" Tears pricked hotly at the corners of Sarah's eyes as she understood what Jareth was implying. "But…why?" she rasped. "Why would someone do this to me? What have I ever done…?" Her watery gaze fixed on the Goblin King. "You," she whispered, coming to a rather nasty conclusion.

Jareth cocked his head to the side and regarded her quizzically. "What's going on in that lovely head?"

"Did you do this to me?" Sarah asked, taking an angry step toward him. "Has it been you all along?"

Jareth smiled tightly. "Tell me, Sarah, why in the _world_ would I bother with someone like _you_."

"Because I beat you," she immediately said. She's always wondered if the proud and arrogant Goblin King would hold a grudge after she'd won, although she would have never imagined he'd go this far.

But his expression didn't change, so that wasn't the answer. Close, but not quite right. It was because—

"Because I rejected you, spurned your offer of my dreams, and…"

She left the sentence unfinished and hanging in the air between them. Jareth's eyes narrowed, though, and he seemed to know what she would have said.

"And _what_, Sarah?" He matched her step with a threatening one of his own. A particularly malicious glint hardened his eyes to slate blue. "Did you think I _cared_ what your answer was? Did you think I sat in my castle nursing a broken heart when you left me, grew up, _forgot_ about me as you married another man and allowed _him_ to make all your dreams come true?" Jareth's smile twisted and he shook his head. "No, Sarah. I didn't fall in love with you when you were a little girl." He paused and tilted his chin at a condescending angle. "In fact, I don't even recall liking you much."

Sarah drew in a breath. Of course he hadn't _loved_ her; she wasn't sure she'd ever believed he had, despite what that troublesome book had said. But to hear him say it so…_cruelly_…the way he insinuated she was, in no way, someone he could feel such emotion for…

_Wow, that hurts more than it probably should._

Sarah swallowed thickly, hoped her expression looked angry and not like she was trying to contain tears of bruised feelings. Her fingers curled around the amulet he'd given her and she was sorely tempted to snap the chain, throw it in his face and tell him where, precisely, he could shove it and this whole damn thing.

Instead, she took a deep, calming breath. Counted slowly to ten. Because no matter how much of a jerk the Goblin King was, she wasn't going to allow him to be the reason she lost this game. "You may not like me," she said, grateful her voice remained steady. "But right now, you need me."

Jareth sneered at her. "An unfortunate exigency that will end once you find me," he snapped. "Don't presume to think I need anything from you beyond that."

Deep breaths weren't really helping. How _dare_ he? How dare he think of her as expendable. _Arrogant __son __of __a __bitch._

But just as she was about to tell him to go to hell, a curious thing happened; a flash of…something…through the Goblin King's eyes made Sarah hold her tongue. Had that been satisfaction? No…it was relief. He was expecting her to lose her temper, waiting for her to explode in a fine show of feminine indignation. He was _goading_ her.

And she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

"Trust me, Goblin King, when it comes to you, I presume very little." She paused and met his glare with a serene expression. "Are we finished here?" she finally asked. "I've had a long day and would really like to rest."

Jareth's eyes narrowed to angry slits and he took another step forward, crowding into the space around her. It wasn't the first time he'd done it, and Sarah began to wonder if he was trying to cow her. To make her feel small and vulnerable by towering over her. She resisted the urge to back away and raised her chin to keep eye contact with him.

"You seriously need to learn about personal bubbles," she told him.

"I'm a _king_," he replied, his voice sliding around her like dark silk. "A member of the Royal Houses."

"Which means you're allowed to constantly be in my face?"

"Which means, princess," he purred, leaning closer, placing his head next to hers so the words fanned coolly over her cheek, tickled their way down her neck, "when in my presence, nothing is yours. Not even the air around you."

"And here I thought that was free." Her gaze burned into the slope of his shoulder and she squashed the instinct to jerk away from him. Or hit him. "How _generous_ of you to let me breathe."

Jareth pulled back a little, his eyes flickering to her mouth as a nasty smile touched the corners of his lips. "For now," he said. "After you've found me, we'll have to see if it's worth my while to allow you to continue doing so."

"You bastard."

"Resorting to name calling?" Jareth shook his head and made an admonishing sound. "I thought you were more mature than that, princess."

Sarah's fingers curled more tightly around her pendant. "You've always brought out the best in me, Goblin King," she replied, dryly.

If she hadn't been standing so close, if she hadn't been watching him, she would have missed the startled look that flashed over his face. More amazing than that, was the streak of soft curiosity in his eyes, as though he wasn't quite sure what she'd meant and wondered if she was being serious. For a moment, Sarah thought he might actually question her about it.

But that infuriating mask slid back into place. His mouth resumed its beautiful sneer, his lashes lowered to hood the mocking gleam in his strange eyes—no. Strange _eye_. His left pupil was in a constant state of dilation, something she always wondered about…

Without thinking, Sarah raised her hand. And, this time, she allowed the tips of her fingers to just brush against Jareth's skin. He went completely rigid under her touch, not even breathing as she lightly caressed the glittery skin beneath his left eye. A part of Sarah couldn't believe her audacity—unabashedly _touching_ the Goblin King—but, _Is__ he __like __this __everywhere?_ she marveled.

She gave into the temptation to find out, let her palm cup the angle of his cheek; reached up with her other hand to mimic the gesture on the other side. Because he was all smooth satin and soft velvet. And she thought he'd be cool to the touch, like marble or ice, but his skin was warm…_hot_…becoming almost feverish the longer she touched him.

A faint glow flickered to life under her hands, slowly brightened…curled around her fingers and began to lick its way up her wrists—

Jareth jerked away as though she'd burned him, and Sarah tried to shake off the tingly sparks still adhered to her fingers.

"Why is your eye like that?" The question blurted out before she could stop it.

That startled look again. Sarah _had_ to find a way to control her mouth. She wasn't sure how to handle all those expressions playing over the Goblin King's face. He was supposed to be cold, aloof, exactingly stolid in her presence. Every time his mask slipped, every time he changed out of his villain persona, it made her try to assign human emotions to him.

_Dangerous,_ she reminded herself.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She looked away when she realized he hadn't started glaring at her like she expected him to. Why was he staring at her like that? "I shouldn't have asked."

Jareth raised a hand, brushed the tips of his fingers wonderingly under his eye where hers had touched. "It was a gift," he answered, softly, surprising her. He paused, then chuckled humorlessly. "Or perhaps a curse." He looked away and the chuckled lingered around his mouth in the form of a derisive smile. "Would you like to hear the story?"

Sarah eyed him, wary of this change in demeanor. "Is this a trick?" she asked. "Are you trying to get me out of the dream?"

Jareth's smile grew on one side, making it a little crooked and softly charming. "Are you saying you don't like leaving me?" Sarah scowled at him and his smile widened. "Besides, would I ever trick you, princess?"

She hated when he called her that. "You know you would."

"Perhaps." He sprawled gracefully on the ground, pillowed his head in his hands, and closed his eyes. "But maybe this will interest you enough to allow me to stay longer."

Sarah furrowed her brow. He kept implying _she_ was the one in control of these dreams, but she couldn't figure out how that was possible. And it was hard to unravel the riddle at this moment, with the moonlight making Jareth's hair shimmer like dewy strands of spider silk, making his skin glow like it had been sprinkled with a fine sheen of stardust.

His eyes opened and his gaze slid toward her. He patted the ground next to him. "Sit."

Sarah licked her lips, shifted her weight uncertainly, then sat—just out of arm's reach. A look that may have been irritation flickered over Jareth's face, but he tucked his hand back under his head and closed his eyes again.

"Once upon a time—"

"Is this something that really happened or a fairy tale?"

Jareth cast her an annoyed glance through one slitted eye. "Do you want to hear it or not?"

"Sorry. Please," and she made a short gesture for him to continue.

"Once upon a time—for that's how all good stories should start—there was a prince…"

* * *

**Chapter ****Title:** "'My First—but don't suppose,' he said, 'I'm setting you a riddle- Is—if your Victim be in bed, Don't touch the curtains at his head, But take them in the middle, And wave them slowly in and out, While drawing them asunder; And in a minute's time, no doubt, He'll raise his head and look about, With eyes of wrath and wonder.'" _Phantasmagoria,__Canto __II__—__Hys __Fyve __Rules_, Lewis Carroll


	16. Light Seeking Light

Light Seeking Light

Once upon a time, there was a prince. He was gallant and brave, very handsome, and was much beloved by his people. Whenever he left the palace on his beautiful, shining steed, the townspeople lined the streets to see him. Women threw flowers and sang songs of praise, children danced gaily before him—

_"Wait," Sarah interrupted, "can we skip ahead to the part that's about you?"_

_"I know it's hard for you to believe, but I really was once a prince," Jareth replied. "Where do you think kings come from?"_

_Unable to decide if he was blithely ignoring her sarcasm or simply didn't hear it, Sarah kept her mouth shut and rested her chin in her hands. It was going to be a long tale; one full of flowery adjectives, no doubt…_

The dashing prince, though, began to feel the weight of his responsibilities when his father, the king, started talking of his son taking a wife. The news spread throughout the kingdom and women, young and old alike, began coming to the palace, trying to win the prince's favor. He sat through numerous balls, attended many parties, countless hastiludes, always surrounded by women but never showing any more attention than another—

_"Oh, you poor thing," Sarah muttered. "To have the attention of so many lovely women must have been so hard on you."_

_"It was, truly," Jareth said, solemnly._

The reason for the delay, the prince told his mother, was he was sometimes unsure if the women were marrying him for love or because he would someday be king.

"I wish I knew for certain," said he, "what the future holds. Will I be happy? Will I find someone who loves me?"

His father, undeterred by the prince's uncertainties and concerned he had not yet chosen a blushing bride, threw one last ball in a desperate attempt to see him wed. The princesses came from far and wide, were plain and pretty, boring and intelligent, exotic, ugly—

_"I get it, there were a lot of them."_

Just when they thought all the young maidens had been announced, the bells in the great hall chimed, alerting those gathered to the arrival of one last guest. The people in the ballroom halted their dancing and conversation, turning in surprise toward the doors.

The woman who entered the room was the loveliest creature the prince had ever seen, tall and pale, hair the color of moonlight and eyes the color of fresh ice. The bright lights glinted from the thin circlet of permafrost encircling her brow, sparkled from her gown, which fell to her feet like frozen water.

The prince was at once entranced. And, even if his heart turned cold with fear, the rest of him knew that this woman was the one he wanted.

Unconcerned with the silence she created, she crossed the large room and stood in front of the dais, where she curtseyed, smiling coolly at the whispers springing up behind her.

"The lady Gwyneira," a startled voice announced.

The prince's parents looked alarmed by this newcomer, but his mother, ever practical, swiftly recovered and greeted the woman warmly. "Please, my lady, be welcomed," she said.

The pale woman rose and turned pallid eyes to the prince. "Since I was not invited to this little feis," and she paused significantly, "I have merely come to offer my congratulations to whichever lucky women the prince chooses."

She turned toward the gathered people and made a broad gesture with one arm. A soft gasp rippled through the crowd and the prince looked away from the pale queen to find snow falling from the ceiling. As everyone watched the spectacle in amazement—for weather manipulation was powerful sorcery, indeed—Gwyneira stepped toward the prince, who was at once mesmerized and afraid.

"Prince Jareth, I've brought you…a gift," the lady whispered and her icy breath blew over his nose and cheeks, kissed his lips and brow.

At once, the prince brought his hands to his face and cried out, "Oh! Something has struck my eye!"

In the confusion, Gwyneira disappeared as people rushed to the prince's aid. But he could still hear her, could hear her coldly chiming laughter as someone pulled his hand from his face. They looked into his eye, but could see nothing. The prince brushed their concern aside and smiled brightly, feeling a little silly at having caused such panic and commotion.

"It is gone, I think," said he.

But it was not gone, he soon found—

_"Finally, we come to the point."_

_"When did you lose your love of a good story, Sarah?"_

_"What was in your eye?"_

It had not been a snowflake that had struck the prince in the eye; it had been a thin sliver of ice, which never melted. The sliver distorted his vision, made him see strange things whenever he looked too long at people or places—strange things that, much to the prince's surprise and horror, would happen; sometimes an hour later, sometimes after days or weeks or years. But always, whatever he saw came true.

Angry, the prince set out to find the Lady Gwyneira to have her remove the curse she had laid upon him. He traveled through dark forests thick with wolves, over deep lakes with fierce serpents, before he found her crystal palace. Jutting into the sky like pale blue stalagmites, it sat on the highest peak of the snowiest mountain that was always blanketed by night.

"Tell me what you have done," demanded the prince.

Gwyneira smiled faintly and leaned comfortably back in her fur-covered throne. "Little prince, I have done nothing but give you a great gift," she calmly told him. "Have you not seen wonderful things? Have you not used it to prevent wars and injustices? Did you not _wish_ for this?" She sat forward when he would answer. "Do not lie to me, princeling, for I can see into your heart."

"Yes, I have done all those things, but this knowledge is not worth the price!" cried the prince. "I have seen the death of my loved ones, over and over again. I have seen the outcomes of wicked men's ideas and the knowing is _burdensome_."

The lady smiled in a self-satisfied manner. "And what else, my little prince?" she asked. "What else have you seen?"

"I have seen _your_ demise," he spitefully told her. A faraway look touched his face. "I have seen the one with the Isle in her eyes and Death in her heart once, twice, penetrate the Veil. Dream will be her ally, Power will be her companion, Love will be her guide. And where her steps fall, she shall banish the Night to make ready the Hill for the Sun."

The lady, angered and frightened by his words, cast him out, but not before cursing him with one last gift.

"King of the Labyrinth and Master of Time," she coldly told the prince, "that is what you shall rule. You will the Creator of Dreams, the Patron of Wishes, but none of these will you have until—"

_"Until what?" Sarah asked when Jareth abruptly broke off._

_"I've forgotten." But his jaw tightened and it was a long moment before he continued._

At first, the prince could not understand what she meant. But as the years passed, he felt the weight of the curse she placed him under. For, though he could spin dreams for the youngest babe to the oldest man, he could not dream himself; and though he could grant the wishes of kings and beggars, none could he make.

And so the prince, now king of the Labyrinth, sat in the center of his realm, where he welcomed the goblins to his city.

And they all lived happily ever after.

* * *

******A/N:** Jareth's tale is based on _The Snow Queen,_ one of my favorites :) The link to the story can be found on my author's page if you've never read it!

**Chapter**** Title:** "Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile; So ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes." _Love's __Labor's __Lost, __Act __I. __scene i_


	17. The Host is Rushing 'Twixt Night and Day

The Host is Rushing 'Twixt Night and Day

"That wasn't a very good ending."

"Are you always so critical of stories?"

"Not when they're _good_. Happily ever after with your goblins? You don't really expect me to believe that, do you? I mean, if that was the case, I wouldn't be here now, would I?"

A snort of amusement came from Jareth and Sarah felt a grin touch the corners of her lips. "Maybe the ending does need some work," he conceded. "Of course, the tale is still being written…maybe you can finish it to your satisfaction."

Sarah _hmmed_ softly, as though contemplating the idea. But a sudden awareness of who she was with and what he was doing thoroughly consumed her thoughts. And she didn't bother with _how_ it had happened, just concentrated on the fact it _had_ happened.

Halfway through the tale, Sarah sprawled on the grass near Jareth. Despite her mildly disparaging comments, she enjoyed listening to him tell his story. Maybe because it really interested her, maybe because she was simply fascinated to actually learn something about the enigmatic Goblin King. His words floated around them like feathers in a breeze, softly falling to her ears in a way that made the story seem even more magical.

And somewhere between the prince getting struck in the eye and running off to find the pale lady, Jareth's fingers had curled into Sarah's hair. As he continued speaking, he idly slipped the spread strands through his fingers, and it almost felt like he didn't realize he was doing it. Like it was an unconscious movement, something he'd done before so many times it was only natural he should do so now.

_"You love me…not now. Later. After all this…"_

Sarah let her eyes fall shut, blocking out the sprinkle of stars overhead, and took a deep breath. "So…what you're telling me is you can see people's futures?" And if the question came out sounding doubtful, it was because she was.

"I don't see the future," Jareth replied. "Not exactly." He paused for a moment and Sarah was afraid he'd tell her, as he had before, that it was hard to explain. But he eventually said, "You think time is a constant, that it moves in a straight line and always forward. But _time_ is simply a mortal measurement of events, an attempt to create order where none exists. It's easily manipulated for those who know how."

_"I have reordered time. I have turned the world upside-down, and I have done it all for you!"_

Sarah shied away from that memory, not willing to examine it in any detail now that she was old enough to understand what he'd been telling her. "And you can because you're the king of time?"

"Precisely. My eye shows me a person's past, present, _and_ future. I see how the beginning effects the end, how the outcome effects the cause. Your past or present determines your future, but your future can also change your past or present."

Sarah frowned as she tried to understand. "Okay," she said, slowly. "So, in the future I could go back and kill my grandfather and not be here now? Is that what you're telling me?"

"No. There are certain things that are fixed. Your birth is a fact, something that is unchangeable because it _must_ happen for other events to occur."

"What do you see when you look at me?"

Silence. Sarah rolled over onto her stomach so she could see Jareth's face. His fingers slid easily out of her hair, reluctantly releasing the dark locks, and she felt a delicious shiver run down her spine. Not surprisingly, Jareth's expression remained smoothly blank.

"That bad, huh?"

A hint of a smile curled one side of his mouth. "No," he said. He pulled his other arm from under his head and rested his hands on his chest. "It's not bad. There are just too many variables when it comes to you."

"That doesn't sound exactly _good_."

Jareth's smile widened. "You're a catalyst, Sarah," he told her. "An unstable one, at that, because of who and what you are. There are an infinite number of possibilities when it comes to what actions you will take. And with each infinite action, there are an infinite number of reactions." He paused and a teasing light entered his eyes. "Sometimes, looking at you makes my head ache."

Sarah cast him a mocking glare. "That's not a very nice thing to say, Goblin King," she said, shoving lightly at his shoulder.

Jareth laughed, one of those genuine sounds that shimmered over her skin and tangled around her heart. He captured her hand with his and held it to his chest. "Let me try again, fair lady," he said. "Sometimes, seeing all you could do takes my breath away."

Delighted warmth tingled through Sarah and kissed her cheeks, even as she tried to figure out when the villain had left and the playful man had appeared in this dream. "It's not poetry," she grumbled, trying to hide a smile. "But I guess it'll do."

Jareth chuckled and the expression on his face made Sarah's fingers curl into his shirt. As it had before, faint heat and light appeared where they touched, whorled over and through their skin. Instead of pulling away this time, Jareth closed his eyes and pressed her hand more firmly into his chest.

"What is this?" Sarah asked.

"A good sign," Jareth murmured.

She slipped from his grasp enough to rub her thumb and forefinger together until the luminescence faded. "You know, your cryptic responses are really irritating," she told him.

A grin tipped the corners of Jareth's mouth. "I know. But I don't want you to think I'm…what was it?…'arrogantly presumptuous.'"

Sarah snorted. "Too late for that." He chuckled again as she traced a light curlicue on the back of his hand, fascinated by the golden glow unfurling under his skin and chasing her finger. A soft noise made her look up; Jareth's eyes were still closed, but his sweeping eyebrows had pulled together. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he whispered. "Not even close."

She'd thought the space in her chest, where the thorn had struck after her husband's death, was empty, as void whose edges were raw and bleeding. But Jareth's words, the way his voice was throaty with strain, the tormented expression on his face, made her heart tumble back into place. She put a hand to her chest, as though searching for the ache she had, if not accepted, then at least learned to expect within the past year.

Her fingers found the Goblin King's amulet, instead. It pressed into her skin so her heart beat its fluttering staccato against the warm metal.

Confused by the feeling, and maybe a little afraid of what it meant, Sarah sat back and ran her fingers through her hair, tugging out a few blades of grass. When she risked a glance at Jareth from the corner of her eye, she was startled to find him watching her.

"So." She paused to clear her throat. Because the soft streaks of gold in his eyes made her face warmer, twisted her stomach into pleasant knots. "So, how did you wind up in the business of stealing children?"

"I don't _steal_ children, Sarah," he said, almost sneered, as if the very idea left a bad taste in his mouth. "It isn't the job of the Goblin King to oversee the making of changelings. That's for the korrigans."

"You took Toby."

"Because that's what you asked. You wished your brother to me, specifically." He contemplated the sky for a moment, looked as though he'd say more, then shrugged. "I only did what you asked."

Sarah eyed the man laying before her. Leaned forward when he refused to look at her. "You already said that, Jareth," she whispered.

He glanced at her, quickly, then stubbornly stared up at the velvety black again. He was too much of a king to shift uncomfortably under her gaze, but Sarah saw a muscle in his cheek jump. She leaned closer, amazed by this disconcerted Goblin King. She didn't remember _wanting_ him to be the man from the night he'd kissed her, but somewhere between threatening her and now, he'd most definitely changed.

"Jareth—"

Without warning, he reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. And in one smooth movement he pulled her down, rolled her over. Sarah found herself on her back, staring up at Jareth hovering above her. Soft strands of his hair tickled her face as he braced an arm near her shoulders. His other hand curled around her hip. And he caged her legs between his thighs.

Sarah's breath caught. Her heart skipped. His fingers cleverly found the skin where her shirt rode up and heat blossomed from where he touched her and slipped into her veins, set every nerve on fire. This time, when he kissed her, it would be different, she knew; this time she wouldn't be disappointed. She licked her lips in anticipation.

But Jareth was staring off into the night, and wasn't touching her except to cradle her head and push down on her hip, as though to make sure she wouldn't move. And the way he hunkered over her made her feel like he was trying to…protect her. Sarah tilted her head back, trying to see what had made the length of his body tense against hers.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, fear starting to niggle at her insides. Because he'd gone so _still_. A small line marred his smooth brow, he tipped his chin to the side, as though intently listening. And he didn't answer. He rose swiftly, absently held out a hand to help her stand, then pushed her behind him as he turned in tight circles, looking in every direction.

When he suddenly swung toward her, Sarah took a startled step back.

"You must wake up." The sheer terror in his voice belied the calm expression on his face.

Sarah's mouth twisted and she shook her head. "No, you're not tricking me out of this dream until you _tell_ me—"

"Sarah, you _must_." He wrapped long fingers around her arms, his grip strong and almost bruising. "Please."

"What's going on?" she asked in a rush, trying to get _something_ out of him before being thrust into consciousness. "What's going to happen when I find you?"

Jareth groaned, a tortured sound, and lowered his head, brushed his lips over the delicate skin of her neck. Hot sparks arced between them. "I don't know." He pulled away too soon and Sarah sucked in a dismayed breath. "But be warned; it will not be a pleasant encounter."

His gaze drifted over her shoulder and his fingers dug painfully into her arms.

"Oh, gods, Sarah, _wake__ up_!"

_"Sarah! Wake up!"_

Jareth shook her, the fear in his voice finally seeping into his eyes, gold cutting wildly through the grey-blue. "The madness comes," he rasped. "Don't let it touch you. The answer is footsteps are silence in darkness and time. Don't forget the charcoal. Now, wake up—"

"—Sarah!"

Her eyes snapped open. Weak light clawed at her vision, momentarily blinding her. Someone had her by the arm, shaking her, and she lashed out, the terror on Jareth's face echoing in her rapidly beating heart and the rush of blood through her ears. When she felt her fist connect with flesh and bone, she rolled away and pushed up into a crouch, her fingers clumsily searching for the knife at her belt.

Grosvenor sat where he'd fallen, holding a hand to his jaw. Sarah's shoulders slumped and she took a breath to apologize. But Grosvenor spoke over her. "We have to go, Sarah," he said. "Quickly."

The thread of fear in the hunter's voice made the world spring into painful focus. The sky overhead blushed with the first rays of dawn, fluffy clouds scudding along their way. The cool morning breeze carried the scent of rich earth, sweet grass…and the sound of excited howls and yips.

"They're coming for us," Grosvenor said, nodding in the direction of the trees as he began to gather his things.

Sarah whirled around, wincing when her skin, still mostly caked in mud, felt like it creased in all the wrong places. She scrubbed the dirt from her arms. "Who's coming?"

"The hounds. They sent a scout a few hours ago." Grosvenor hastily stamped out the campfire, sending burning chunks of wood scattering around Sarah's feet and into the lump of her blanket. He cast a grim look toward the forest. "He stood there and watched us for a while before disappearing. I didn't think much of it until I heard them."

Unwilling to take her eyes from shadows, Sarah crammed her blanket into her pack by feel and asked, "How do you know they're looking for us?"

"They're the Queen's Hounds. Part of the Wild Hunt. Their howls foretell the death of anyone who hears them."

The creatures burst through the line of trees moving at full tilt. They raced across the plain like ghosts, their huge paws barely touching the ground. Goosebumps pimpled Sarah's skin. They were monstrous. Bigger than any canine Sarah had ever seen. All she could do was stand there, terror holding her body hostage as they swiftly closed the distance.

_Big, bad wolf…_

Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, jerked her from the spot where she'd frozen. Yanked her violently into motion. Sarah stumbled, fell to her hands and knees. Her blood pounded in her ears as Grosvenor helped her to her feet.

"_Run!_"

* * *

**Chapter**** Title:** "…The host is rushing 'twixt night and day, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caolte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away." _The __Hosting __of __the __Sidhe_, William Butler Yeats


	18. If You Would Read My Riddle

If You Would Read My Riddle

Her legs burned. Her breaths came short and shallow. Every time her feet hit the ground, the impact jarred her teeth. Her backpack became a heavy burden, insistently trying to drag her down. She was tired and hungry. And more scared than she'd ever been in her life. Not even when she'd ran from the tunnel cleaners in that long, dark Victorian passageway had she been this terrified.

She wanted to shout at Grosvenor to stop, that she needed to rest. But the hairs on the nape of her neck prickled ominously. She made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. Her hair whipped into her face, obscured her vision.

Not so much that she couldn't see the hounds nipping at her heels.

Fear gave her a burst of speed. She drew abreast of Grosvenor. He pointed to the hill where the Black Tower rose into the air like a dark needle. They were so _close__—_

White touched the corner of Sarah's vision. Dread pooled in her stomach as she turned to look. And she let out a breathless shout. One of the hounds loped easily along next to her, his head nearly even with her shoulder. He veered into her slightly. Soft fur brushed against her arm. Sarah recoiled, altering course enough to move away from the beast. He close the space between them again.

This time, instead of lightly brushing against her, he rammed his shoulder into her side.

Sarah's feet tangled around each other. She went down with a cry of pain as she skidded over the grass. Her shoulder, twice injured now, erupted with fiery agony. She heard Grosvenor curse, felt his hands hook under her arms, trying to pull her upright again. Trying to get her into motion again.

But it was too late. The pack split down the middle like water around a rock as it flowed to encircle Sarah and the hunter. Amber eyes glinted in the rising sun's light. For being so large, they were strangely silent as they stalked in a tight ring around their prey. Sarah's gasping breaths rasped harshly through the air. The pain of her shoulder throbbed in her ears, distracted her even as she tried to watch the wolves. A hand sweaty with fear curled around the hilt of her knife, but the beasts kept a wary distance. Terrifying as they were, Sarah had to admit they were beautiful creatures. With snow white fur and red-tipped ears, they had the easy grace of animals built for long distance running.

On the back of one straggling behind was a brightly colored figure. As the pair neared, the man swung his legs from the hound, somersaulted across the ground and bounced to his feet directly in front of Sarah.

She moved back as far as the ring of wolves would allow.

"Well met, my lady," the man said.

He gave her a sweeping bow, then held out a pale, slender hand when he straightened. Sarah eyed him warily. He wore a jester's motley of sun yellow and ocean blue. A matching mask hid half of his face and outlined piercingly light blue eyes. And, every time he moved, the sweet tinkle of bells chimed faintly through the air. There was something familiar about him…

He hardly seemed innocuous, having chased them down with a wolves, but his gesture appeared genuine and friendly. Sarah found herself extending her hand to shake his almost without thinking.

Grosvenor grabbed her wrist and jerked it down to her side. "Don't touch him," the hunter warned, but didn't offer any explanation.

_"Things aren't always what they seem in this place…"_

"Who are you?" Sarah asked the man. "What do you want?"

Thin lips curved into a slow smile. "How predictably impatient mortal curiosity is," the man said. "A game of questions, then."

"Riddles," Grosvenor murmured behind Sarah. She glanced at him and saw his grimace. "He'll ask you riddles."

"From here on out," the jester said, sweeping his arms to the side, "the only thing you may say is the answers to my four questions. Anything else, you forfeit. If you do not answer in…" He tilted his head to the side, contemplated Sarah with pursed lips. "I think you'll need at least a full minute," he decided, mockingly. Sarah bristled, but kept her mouth shut. "More than a minute to answer, and you forfeit."

"What's the bargain?" Grosvenor asked. He smiled when Sarah looked at him again. "He never said _I_ couldn't speak."

The jester's expression melted into disgruntlement. "Hm, yes, well, next time I'll not make that mistake," he muttered. "If the lady answers correctly, she and you, brave hunter, are free to continue on your way unharmed by me or my pets." He patted the head of one of the hounds affectionately—frowned when the beast snarled at him. "Should you lose, the hunter is free to go still, since I have no interest him. You, however, lady…" He trailed off and a sinister grin darkened his eyes.

Sarah glowered at the man, then looked at Grosvenor, who shrugged. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded and Grosvenor said, "Deal." The hunter put an encouraging hand on Sarah's shoulder. "I have faith you'll come out of this victorious."

_Well, __at __least __one __of __us __does,_ Sarah thought, turning her frown on the pale man.

The jester smiled, a self-satisfied expression that reminded Sarah a little of the Goblin King. "Good," he drawled. "We'll start you off easy; the more you take, the more you leave behind."

Sarah's mouth twisted—she'd heard this one before. "Footsteps."

"Well _done_, my lady. Now," and the jester crossed his legs as he sat, bells tinkling merrily, "what is no sooner spoken than broken?"

It took her a little longer, but she finally said, "Silence," and felt her own smile touching her lips when the jester's face went blank.

"It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind the stars and under hills, and empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, ends life, kills laughter."

Sarah sat down in front of the man, rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. She idly contemplated him as she thought over the riddle. Why did he look so familiar?

"Darkness."

Pale eyes flared gas blue with irritation. "This thing all things devours, birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal; Slays kings, ruins towns and beats the highest mountains down."

_"The answer is footsteps are silence in darkness and time."_

Sarah sat up straight. No. Way. How had he known? How could he have _possibly_ known? Leave it to the Goblin King to find a way to not play fair. Sarah fell backward and stared up at the cobalt blue sky, throwing her laughter up toward the clouds.

"Do you have an answer?" the jester asked. She heard him shift as she continued laughing. "If you don't—"

"Time!" Sarah shouted through her chuckles. "The answer is time." She angled her chin so she could look at the slender man and found his expression had darkened, like a child told he couldn't have chocolate cake for breakfast. Sarah sat up, swiftly, leaned as close to him as she dared. Her fingers curled into the earth, her muscles quivered with barely suppressed anger. "Who are you?" she asked, her laughter gone, her tone deadly serious. "And where is my Goblin King?"

The man's eyes widened slightly behind his mask at the ferocity of her tone. Then, his mouth twisted into a humorless line and he sat forward until he was nearly nose to nose with her. Cool, sweet breath fluttered over her cheeks as he murmured, "You should have turned back when you had the chance, Sarah Williams."

With a start, she recognized him—she'd _dreamed_ about him, a lifetime ago it seemed now. He was the dancing fool who'd stood with her on the top of a sandy hill overlooking the Labyrinth. _"Turn __back__ before __it's__ too __late,"_ he'd told her. And, _"I __can't,"_ she'd replied.

The jester bounced to his feet in one easy, graceful motion, and put a hand to his forelock as though tipping a hat. "Beware, Sarah," he said. "Your way has been a trifle, so far. The path ahead, however, will be fraught with darkness. Your opponent will stop at nothing to see you fail. I'm here to give you warning; the fame will not be fair from here on, should you choose to continue." The line of his mouth softened. "Last chance, Sarah Williams, to turn back."

She stared at the man for a long moment, then asked, "What happens if I do?"

He shrugged. "No harm will come to you or yours. Your opponent wishes you no ill will should you choose to resign. You'll go home, live your life as though none of this ever happened."

"I'll forget, you mean." Something frightening in its intensity began to grow in her chest. "You'll make me forget this place…make me forget him."

"Yes." The jester spread his hands. "I can see how this might give you pause, but how can you miss that which you never knew?"

His words rang with a certain amount of truth. Sarah wasn't even sure what had made her agree to all this madness to begin with. She owed the Goblin King nothing; they had played their game and she had won. She couldn't deny that she missed the excitement, couldn't say she had never longed to be immersed in the magic of his world again. But she had grown up, had tried to put aside those childish dreams and fantasies. She had recognized what she'd been given and had been grateful, but she never looked back, always moved forward.

_"Don't forget the girl you once were—you'll need her more than you think."_

Sarah had entered this game under the impression she was playing for her life, that the Goblin King was simply the goal; that, after finding him, she would be done and would go back home. But she didn't even know the reason she'd been chosen to play the game in the first place. And the jester's words, compounded with everything others had told her, made her think there was more to this than she'd been led to believe—made her think finding Jareth was only the beginning.

Could she leave him? Could she simply turn around and _leave_? If what the pale man told her was true, she would never know the difference anyway. Logic coldly told her _yes_, she could walk away from this insanity that made less and less sense every day.

But her heart, so recently found again, constricted at the thought. And Sarah realized even without her memories, her heart would always know what she'd done. The Goblin King had been her opponent, but not necessarily her villain. In fact, he'd kind of been her hero, rescuing her from the woman she might have become. Willingly allowing herself to forget that seemed horribly unfair—to both of them. And, while she may not love Jareth as he seemed to think she would, she certainly cared what happened to him. To know she'd left him to spend the rest of his days in a living nightmare would be more than her heart could bear.

Sarah rose to her feet and looked down her nose at the wiry man before her, emulating Jareth in his Goblin King persona as much as she was able. She thought maybe she looked a little silly. But if it was possible, the jester paled further and a wary glinted entered his eyes. Dark satisfaction slid into Sarah's expression.

"You tell whoever's doing this they can take their offer, and go to hell." Her voice frosted the air with cold, indignant anger. She advanced on the man and narrowed her eyes. Bared her teeth in a fierce smile when he gave ground before pulling up short. "And then you tell them that, when I find them, they'll quickly learn the meaning of _not __fair_."

The jester kept an eye on her as he backed away, as though _she_ was the wild beast. His hand sought blindly for the ruff of the wolf next to him. And then he was on the back of the hound. The undulating ring of teeth and claws broke apart, streaked across the plain in a blur of white as the pack made its way toward the forest. Sarah stood where she was until they disappeared into the shadows again, then let out a long, shaky breath.

"I think that went rather well, don't you?" she said, turning to Grosvenor.

The hunter was looking at her with an uncertain expression. A hand gravitated toward the hilt of his knife. Sarah took a step away from him, confused.

"What are you?" he asked.

She held her hands out at her sides, spread her fingers to make sure he knew she wasn't holding anything. She didn't understand this sudden tension between them. Hadn't _he_ been the one who'd been confident she'd win the jester's game? So why was he now looking at her as though she might be dangerous?

"I'm exactly what I seem," Sarah told him. "A woman in a strange land, looking for a mad king."

"You appear harmless, but things are rarely what they seem, here," he said, slowly. "To scare the Fool, you must control powerful sorcery."

They stared at each other, doubt pulling the hunter's face into grim lines. "The only thing magical about that was how I managed to get the answers right," Sarah said. She silently willed him to believe her and not decide to fillet her. After a long, tense moment, Grosvenor nodded. "I'm grateful for your help—I can't begin to thank you enough or think of how to repay you—" The hunter waved the words away with a careless gesture. "—but you don't have to go any farther with me. I know you have obligations of your own."

The hunter shrugged, as though it was unimportant. "How's your shoulder?"

"It hurts." She grimaced as she adjusted her backpack. "But it's not unbearable." She jutted her chin toward the Black Tower. "How far do you think that is?"

"Maybe only a few hours." Sarah fell into step beside Grosvenor as he started walking, idly scraping the mud from her skin. "Do you know who that man was?" the hunter asked after a while.

Sarah flicked a chunk of dirt from her leg. "I saw him in a dream, once," she absently replied. She couldn't recall ever reading a fairy tale with a jester as a character. "Just some crazy fool, I guess."

"No." The hard note in Grosvenor's voice made Sarah look at him. "Not just _some_ crazy fool. _The_ Fool. The Fool of the Forth." Sarah's expression remained blank, and Grosvenor sighed. "It's frightening that you don't know enough to realize when you should be properly scared." And there was a sort of rueful humor in his tone.

"Yeah, well, if someone would bother _telling_ me anything, I wouldn't be quite so ignorant," Sarah growled. She glared at the tower slowly growing closer. "Like, for starters, what is that place?"

"A prison. It holds nobles accused of serious crimes."

"Could your princess be there?"

"Doubtful. She's much too cunning to willingly walk into a cell."

_Much __too __cunning__…_ Sarah had always thought the Goblin King was clever, so how had he managed to get himself locked away? What had happened after she'd left his labyrinth? He'd told her he needed a runner who'd won…that she'd been the only one to ever make it to the end. Did that have something to do with it?

Sarah frowned and shook her head. Surely not. Surely some foolish teenage girl, who'd only made her way to the Goblin King's castle on wishes and luck, wasn't the reason for this big of a mess.

They stopped only long enough for Sarah to pull something to eat from her pack. Beef jerky for breakfast wasn't exactly ideal, but as they continued on their way, Sarah found she didn't really care anymore what she ate, just as long as she wasn't hungry. Or being fed memory-altering food.

The land changed around them as they neared the tower. Where their steps had once been cushioned by thick green, now their feet broke blades of brittle grass. The few trees dotting the plain had been tall, stalwart sentries, but now were twisted, gnarled old men, their branches sagging toward the ground. Sarah cast a glance over her shoulder and saw the curving line clearly marking the change.

Apprehension slid cold fingers down her spine. "What else can you tell me about the tower?"

"Not much. The only people who know anything about it are the ones who go in. And they don't tend to come out." Grosvenor glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "Not alive, anyway."

Sarah sighed. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear," she muttered. "Basically, what you're telling me is I'm on some kind of suicide mission?"

Grosvenor shrugged then, unexpectedly, a huge grin lit up his face. "Not if you're who I think you are."

"And if I'm not?" Sarah asked, blandly. "Then what?"

"Well," the hunter cocked his head to the side, "that would be unfortunate." He paused for a moment. "Sometimes, though, it's not about who we are, but about who we believe we can be."

Sarah almost rolled her eyes at that comment. But she had to admit what he said was kind of wise. Hadn't she found a safe place to rest when she'd needed it? Hadn't she rid herself of gnats? Made it stop raining? So, why couldn't she wish herself into a hero?

When they finally reached the base of the tower, Sarah wasn't quite convinced she could make herself into some shining knight from a fairy tale, but she felt a little more confident about the situation. She eyed the wall of the tower with a small frown. It was completely smooth and whatever material it was made from hungrily sucked in the afternoon light.

"How do I get in?"

Grosvenor pointed at something. Peering at the black surface, Sarah saw a doorknocker.

_"Knock and the door will open."_

"Figures," she muttered. Grosvenor followed slowly behind her, the lean line of his body thrumming with alertness. "How dangerous is this place?"

"Every thing under the rule of the Queen is dangerous," the hunter told her. He made a gesture, encompassing the area around them. "Do you hear that?" When Sarah shook her head, he gave her a grim look. "Exactly. It's too quiet. There should be birds calling to each other, insects buzzing through the grass, rodents scuttling to their burrows. But there's…"

"Nothing," Sarah finished, softly.

She swallowed nervously and turned back to the door, steeled herself, then knocked. She didn't jump when the door swung silently inward, since she'd kind of expected it. But she hesitated, her palms sweaty as she pushed it the rest of the way open with her fingertips. She peered cautiously into the dim interior. She slid a foot over the threshold. Stopped to let her eyes adjust.

The rectangular room stretched out before her, large but not overwhelmingly so. The polished, soot-colored stone floor was bare and the only light came from the windows near the ceiling on either side. There was another door on the wall opposite from where she stood, and one to her immediate right. Other than that, the room was empty.

"Should there be guards?" she whispered over her shoulder.

"One would think." Grosvenor's voice was equally quiet.

Sarah stepped the rest of the way inside. When nothing happened, when no one jumped from the corners of the room to attack her, she let out a slow breath and turned back to the hunter.

"I think it's all ri—"

The door slammed shut.

The sound ricocheting from the walls was almost ominous in its finality. Sarah shouted and lunged forward, pounding her hands against the door, her fingers searching the smooth black surface for a handle. But she couldn't find the seam of the jamb, couldn't even see any hinges.

"Son of a bitch," she swore. She flattened her palm against the door, sending a silent wish for Grosvenor's safety through the thick wood, then turned back to the inside of the tower and contemplated her options.

_Eeny, meeny, miny, mo…_

Not how she would have picked her way through the Labyrinth, but then, she reminded herself, this was an entirely different ballgame. She chose the door across the room; found a brightly illuminated staircase spiraling upward on the other side.

Hooking her thumbs under the straps of her pack resolutely, Sarah began her ascent.

* * *

**A/N:** The Fool of the Forth/Amadan-na-Briona is a figure from Gaelic legend, and is talked about in Yeats' _The__ Celtic__ Twilight_ (not a fairy tale, really).

**Chapter ****Title:** "A flash of light—a fleeting shade—Beginning, end, and middle, Of all that human art hath made, Or wit devised! Go, seek HER aid, If you would read my riddle!" _Four __Riddles,_ Lewis Carroll


	19. Every Inch a King

Every Inch a King

Around the last curve of the staircase, Sarah came to an uncertain halt. Two women stood, hand in hand, at the top. They watched as Sarah, sticky and breathless, puffed her way up to them. Much to her dismay, she noticed they were fresh-faced and beautiful. Standing at exactly the same height, they had the same slender build, the same large, doe-like brown eyes and smooth, creamy skin. They could have been twins. Except the one on the left had hair the color of wildfire while the other's was as pale as the moon.

"I'm here for the Goblin King," Sarah said, trying to look fierce and determined, but mostly feeling ragged and in desperate need of a bath.

The redheaded woman nodded and gestured for Sarah to come the rest of the way up the stairs. The two women turned together and walked through the door behind them.

"Is he in there?" Sarah couldn't quite mask the tired hope in her voice.

"No," the redhead said over her shoulder.

Frustration pulled Sarah's eyebrows together. "Then where—?"

"Please, Sarah, come inside and take some refreshment. We will take you to the Goblin King shortly," the blonde said, her voice softer than her companion's. Sarah hesitated. The sun had started its descent when she'd entered the tower, so had a little less than five hours left. "There are things we must discuss first," the blonde added. "Please, we mean you no harm."

Sarah wasn't sure who to trust anymore. She had the feeling it was a stroke of sheer luck she'd run into Grosvenor and that he hadn't wanted to cut _her_ heart out. But she was so close—she didn't know how, but she _knew__—_and if Jareth was here, then these women could tell her.

_Would_ tell her.

The room Sarah stepped into was as detailed as the entryway had been plain. Colorful tapestries blanketed the walls, plush rugs muted her steps. Couches, ornately carved and painted gold, sat around a large fireplace, their light pink cushions soft and inviting. Rigid-backed chairs were scattered around, along with small tables holding books, candelabras or delicate-looking glass bowls and statues. Sconces lit the room with a cheerful, warm yellow glow. Somewhat against her better judgement, Sarah felt a little of the tension ease from her spine.

The blonde woman crossed the room and pulled the edge of a tapestry aside, revealing another door. "There is a basin and washcloth in here," she said, pushing open the door, "if you would like to take a moment to put yourself in order."

Sarah forced herself to remain where she was and not rush toward the promise of, if not a bath, then at least a chance to feel slightly more human. She looked from the blonde to the redhead. The latter smiled, an expression that wasn't exactly friendly but at least was polite, and sat gracefully on one of the couches.

"Your caution is understandable," the redhead said, "but unnecessary. If we wanted to harm you, we would have done so already."

"Not very reassuring," Sarah said.

The woman shrugged. "But the truth. You're in no danger from us, Sarah."

Yet. The woman didn't say it, but Sarah could hear it implied in her tone. She had to admit, she appreciated the honesty, though. And, maybe, if she went about this the right way, she could get out of this tower intact and with the Goblin King.

After washing off as much dirt as she could, Sarah changed into the only other pair of jeans and shirt she had—dusty from traveling, but at least they were caked in dried mud. When she was finished, she took a seat across from the two women, hooking the strap of her backpack over her knee.

"Much better," the blonde woman said, her smile reaching her eyes. "Would you care for anything to drink?" Sarah shook her head. "Well, then, introductions. I am Eirwen and this is my sister, Rhosyn. We are the guardians of the tower."

"Is the Goblin King here?" Sarah asked.

"Yes. But—"

"Then take me to him," and Sarah began to rise to her feet.

"I'm not sure you fully understand what's going on, Sarah," Rhosyn said. "He was placed here because…" She seemed to consider how to phrase the information. "Well, because he's gone quite mad."

Sarah closed her eyes and tried to calm the anger sparking in her chest. "I know that." Her words were clipped with irritation. It seemed everyone was intent on giving her useless information. Finding one kind who'd lost his mind shouldn't have been this hard. "I'm here to help him."

"He's not some poor deranged lunatic." Rhosyn leaned forward, a frown on her lips. "He's like a rabid animal. You're too late." She glanced at her sister. "There is nothing left of what you once knew as the Goblin King," she added when Eirwen nodded. "There's no cure for the madness consuming him. He has been Touched."

"Touched?" Sarah's brow furrowed.

The sisters exchanged glances full of something Sarah didn't understand. But the ice slipping into her gut assured her it was terrible.

"Amadan-na-Briona's Touch," Rhosyn said, as though it explained everything. When Sarah only looked more confused, she added, "You met him, on the plain, just hours ago."

"The crazy jester?"

Rhosyn shook her head. "Not a crazy jester. He's the Queen's own Right Hand. His touch brings madness."

_"The madness comes. Don't let it touch you."_

"It is irreversible," Eirwen said.

Disbelief stole Sarah's voice. What they were saying wasn't true. It _couldn't_ be. The Goblin King, manipulative though he may be, would never have set her an impossible task. Even in the Labyrinth, when things had _seemed_ impossible, there had always been a solution. So there had to be something she could do here. To come all this way only to find there had been no hope from the beginning… She simply didn't believe it.

"No," she said.

"You're too late," Rhosyn said again. "His sentence will be carried out on the morrow."

Still trying to work out how there was nothing left to do here, how she'd suffered through mad witches and mudslides…how she'd _lost_…Sarah could only stare blankly at the sisters, not comprehending anything they were telling her. "His sentence?"

Rhosyn nodded, sadly, but it was her sister who answered. "Death."

The amulet around Sarah's neck dug painfully into her chest as her hand pressed against it. Because her heart had stopped in horror. _Death?_ "No," she whispered.

"There is nothing you can do."

_Death._

"Your travels must have been arduous," said one of the sisters. Sarah didn't know which; she was staring at the dusty strap of her pack, slung over her knee, not able to hear anything because she was too stunned by what they'd told her.

"…send you home in the morning."

Sarah's head snapped up. She narrowed her eyes at the two women. A trick. It had to be. They were deliberately stalling her by dashing her hopes, but telling her she'd lost. But she still had _time_. Maybe not much, but enough. It had to be enough.

"No."

Rhosyn smiled tightly. "Yes, Sarah. Relax, take some refreshment, rest. This will all be forgotten in the morning. Nothing more than a bad dre—"

Sarah shot up off the couch, making a lunge toward the door. But Rhosyn had predicted the movement, and she jumped up at the same time, blocking Sarah's path. The latter's gaze flickered from the redhead to the blonde warily. Rhosyn had implied they weren't to be reckoned with and Sarah certainly knew enough, after everything that had happened, to have a healthy respect for warnings.

But instead of fear twining around her heart, white-hot anger flared in her chest. It was a righteous, indignant anger, burning cleanly through her veins. And it was familiar. It have her the strength to do things like stand up to terrifying Goblin Kings and take literal leaps of faith.

_"How far would you go for something you believe in, Sarah?"_

"I am sick and goddamn _tired_ of being hindered at every turn." Sarah's voice trembled as she tried to control it. Twinkling golden light began to shimmer under her chin, grew brighter with every word, but she didn't take her eyes from Rhosyn. "I am getting through that door, and I'm going to find my Goblin King. And you two are going to let me."

Rhosyn smiled. From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Eirwen move slowly toward her. "We are guardians of this place for a reason, Sarah," the blonde calmly said. "Please don't do anything rash."

"Trust me," Sarah snarled. "I plan to be very rational about this."

She saw Rhosyn tense, felt Eirwen circle behind her. And, just as the women began to rush her, Sarah, shaking with fury, shouted, "_No!_"

The word cracked through the air like a lightening strike. The golden glow at Sarah's chest thundered through the room. Glass exploded. Someone cried out. A thin line of fire kissed Sarah's cheek. But she squeezed her eyes shut, ignored the pain. Waited until the light faded.

She waited a heartbeat longer to survey the damage. All the little glass ornaments around the room had shattered, the fine shards glittering on the floor like powdered diamonds. Rhosyn stood a scant foot away from Sarah, a surprised look on her face—_frozen_ on her face. The woman was statue-still, her hand outstretched, her eyes wide open. Sarah turned and found the other sister in the same mannequin-like state. Whether they were dead or not, Sarah couldn't tell.

Somewhere, deep inside of her, she thought she should feel guilty. But she didn't have the time. Swiping the back of her hand over the blood trickling down her face, she edged around Rhosyn and stooped to grab her backpack. She rushed down the stairs, hit the door at the bottom at a dead run, and slammed into the entryway.

She took only a moment to catch her breath before yanking op the other door she'd seen. Another set of stairs greeted her, this one winding downward. Candles punctuated the darkness of the spiraling steps, barely giving Sarah enough light to see by. As she raced down, the air cooled against her skin, became damp and musty. The walls became slick with icy condensation and her breath clouded as it left her lips. At the bottom, she paused.

A long hall stretched out before her, its walls lined with half a dozen doors before branching off in two directions. Sarah ran the length, peering into each cell, moving on to the next when she found one after another empty. She chose the hall to her left, stopped when she found it also branched off. The other way was the same.

She took a deep, shaky breath, trying not to cry as hopelessness sank its claws into her heart. She could wander around this twisting maze for days without finding anything.

"Where _are_ you?" she shouted, banging her fist against the cold stone, angry and frustrated and afraid she was in the wrong place with no time left. "I've been sucked through crystals, attacked by crazy women, chased by wolves, and caught in a goddamn landslide! I've been cold and hurt and scared, and I've come all this way to _find_ you, Goblin King, so where the _hell __are __you_!"

A soft sound whirled Sarah around. She held her breath, straining to hear. Took a few steps forward when she heard the faint noise again. She trailed her fingers along the wall as she walked the length of the corridor. When damp stone was replaced by empty air, she came to a startled halt. Then, she smiled derisively.

"Fool me once, shame on you."

The musty hall she followed felt like it wound in on itself. The floor slanted down, the temperature dropped further, and no one had thought to put any lights along this passage. Sarah stopped to pull her flashlight out of her pack. Cobwebs, thick and sticky, hung from the ceiling. Tired and sore, Sarah hardly cared if they got into her hair, but their presence indicated no one had come this way in a very long time. Which only made her hurry.

_"It's a place you put people to forget about them."_

Is that what had happened to Jareth? Was he here because he was a threat? Because the queen had wanted to forget he ever existed?

Or because she wanted everyone else to forget about him?

_What did he do?_

When she reached the end of the hall, Sarah paused for a moment to look around. The door was plain wood, bloated with moisture. Along the walls, multicolored patches of moss and mold dotted the stone. She stood on her tiptoes to see over the edge of the small, barred window; scowled when she realized she wasn't quite tall enough.

The handle turned easily, but the door stubbornly refused to open. Sarah put all her weight into the thick wood, grinding her teeth around tears as fresh pain flared in her shoulder. With one last heave, the door swung open. Sarah stumbled forward—

—splashed through ankle-high water.

The beam of her flashlight showed her a room barely tall enough to stand upright in, and so narrow she'd be able to touch either side from the middle. With the door open, the water flowed into the hall, leaving her standing in soft mud. But the walls wept and it was so cold the white beam of light shook with the trembling of her hand.

"Goblin King?"

A furtive movement. Sarah swung her flashlight toward it.

"Oh, my God," she breathed.

He huddled in a corner. The only thing she could really make out was his shock of white-blond hair and the glitter of his eyes. Carefully, she took a step forward. A low, menacing sound vibrated through the air. It took Sarah a moment to realize it came from the Goblin King.

What was left of him, anyway.

"Jareth," she whispered. She hoped he would respond to his name as he had in their first dream, that this wasn't as impossible as the sisters had implied; she'd hoped it it wouldn't be as bad as Jareth had led her to believe in their dreams. But her heart sank at the sight of him. "Jareth, it's me, Sarah."

She slid forward another step. Stopped when that feral sound rumbled from his throat again. His lips peeled away from his teeth in a threatening snarl. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. There was no crystal ball rolling out of the corner this time, nothing to show her how to solve this puzzle.

"Jare—"

He launched himself across the room. Slammed into her. The air wheezed from her lungs. Sarah fought to disentangle from him, but he shoved her back against the wall. Her head bounced from the hard stone, bright pinpoints of light speckled her vision. She groaned out a protest, feebly pushed at Jareth as she felt him claw at her. Fabric ripped, cold fingers jabbed viciously into her flesh. Sarah managed to blink away the pain in her head enough to struggle. But he was so strong. How could a man who had been in this place, in these conditions, still be so inhumanly _strong_? An icy hand fumbled roughly at her breast, bony hips ground mindlessly between her legs. Panic and terror gripped her throat, nearly defeating her.

She got her arms between them. Smashed the heel of her hand up into his chin. Jareth grunted, his nails sinking into her as his teeth snapped loudly. Sarah repeated the blow, slammed her hand into his chest. When he rocked back, she jerked her knee up and buried it in his stomach.

Jareth let out a satisfyingly painful burst of breath and doubled over, his arms crossing protectively over the soft flesh of his abdomen. But he recovered faster than Sarah planned. Before she could do more than slide a few steps away, he was on top of her again. His weight dragged her to the floor. She flailed, tried to buck him off. The chain around her neck twisted, cutting off precious air, and she desperately tried to keep Jareth's snapping teeth away from her face while grabbing the amulet.

As soon as her fingers curled around the medallion, a curious thing happened. A sharp tingle ran from the tips of her fingers, up her shoulder, and spread outward. It was like she'd grabbed an electric fence. She gasped as she felt it race across her heart and shiver out her other hand.

Jareth jerked away from her, as though she'd shocked him. He shook his head, turned hazy eyes on her in confusion. Sarah grabbed his bare arm.

White-gold lightening arced between them.

Before he could pull completely away, Sarah wrapped her legs around his waist. He twisted and shoved at her, a wild animal trapped against its will. An open hand connected with the side of her head, leaving her dazed for a breath. Dodging the next swing, she hooked her free arm behind his neck and yanked him down to her.

"This better work," she muttered, glaring into Jareth's feral snarl, "or I'll kill you myself."

She smashed the amulet into his chest at the same moment his mouth slammed into hers.

Silence gripped the dank room.

Sarah barely resisted the urge to gag as the coppery taste of blood flooded her mouth. He must have bitten his tongue when she'd jacked him in the face. Jareth struggled madly in her hold. Fresh blood spilled over her tongue as his teeth sank into her lips. His hands were bruising as he tried to shove away from her. But Sarah refused to let him go, tightened her grip around his neck and waist. She could feel the way her nails dug into the skin of his chest, felt sticky warmth spread under her fingertips.

Finally, with a low whine in the back of his throat, Jareth stilled. His chilled body pressed tightly against her, as though to soak in her warmth. _Is __it __working?_ Sarah wondered. She didn't know what, precisely, she was doing, but Jareth felt a little less wild, all that enormous power felt a little more contained.

As he sank against her, heat pooled and eddied every place their bodies touched. Golden light touched her closed eyelids. Jareth sighed against her. She eased her legs from around him as his mouth softened over hers. A cold hand slipped up the length of her jaw, cool fingers curled slowly into her hair. The other hand covered hers where it pressed the medallion into his chest, just over his heart.

_It's working!_

Then the world exploded.

* * *

**A/N:** Rhosyn and Eirwen mean Rose and White Snow, respectively. They are plucked from _Snow__ White__ and__ Rose __Red_ (the former having no relation to the Snow White with the dwarves...they're spelled differently in German, which is way less confusing). Other than their names, and maybe their appearance, they don't really bare any resemblance to their original characters. The link to their fairy tale is on my author's page!

**Chapter ****Title:**** Lear:** "...Go to, they are not men o' their words. They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof." **Gloucester:** "The trick of that voice I do well remember. Is 't not the king?" **Lear:** "Ay, every inch a king. When I do stare, see how the subjects quake..." _King __Lear, __Act __IV,__ scene__ vi_


	20. You Remind Me of the Man

You Remind Me of the Man

Sarah awoke groggy and with the worst hangover of her life. Groaning, she weakly put a hand to her head and wondered which of her friends had talked her into going out on a weeknight. _Take your pick, _she thought. Any one of her silver-tongued friends could have convinced the Pope to shed his robes and get a hooker.

With a sigh, Sarah rolled over and reached for her blankets. It was damn cold in her room.

When her fingers grasped only empty air, when her shoulder dug into something hard and most definitely _not_ her bed, the headache briefly receded as her eyes snapped open—

—and were greeted by absolute black.

"Ah, good. You're finally awake," a silky voice murmured.

The events of the past two weeks fastforwarded through her head, bringing her quickly to the present. Jareth had been crazy. Lost. She had survived the gingerbread house and the big bad wolves. Found the Goblin King, brought him back to her—_No_. Sarah shook her head and levered herself carefully into a sitting position. _Brought him back to reality…Such as it is…_

"I must say that was, hands down, the stupidest thing I've ever seen anyone do."

She turned toward his voice, groaned as her headache came back with a vengeance.

"Or had the displeasure of being a part of."

Sarah closed her eyes, hoping it would keep them from popping out of her head. Good God, it felt like someone was trying to extract her brain from the inside with a sledgehammer.

"Never in my life—"

"Would it be too much to ask you to shut the hell up for a minute?" Sarah snapped.

Indignant silence.

"Thank you," she muttered. She pulled her knees to her chest and dropped her forehead on them, concentrating on pushing her stomach back where it belonged. She'd be damned if she puked her guts out in front of the Goblin King.

"You're having a reaction to the backlash."

Unless she threw up _on_ him…then it might be worth it.

"I can help, if you like."

Sarah cracked an eye open and glared at him; she couldn't actually see him, but it made her feel a little better, glaring in his general direction. She weighed her options—spend the rest of the day feeling like someone was trying to split her head at the temples with an axe, or accept Jareth's help and whatever conditions that came with it. Because surely the Goblin King wouldn't freely offer his assistance without wanting something in return.

Sarah's stomach churned. Bright spots danced through her vision in time with the throbbing in her head. _Ah, hell…_

"For what?" she asked, reluctantly.

"Pardon?"

"What will it cost me, your help?"

A pause. Sarah thought she'd have been better off keeping her mouth shut.

"Consider this free of charge."

She eyed the darkness suspiciously. "Why?"

A soft chuckle, the whisper of material as he shifted. "Only Sarah Williams would look a gift horse in the mouth and try to count its teeth."

"Yes, well, you aren't exactly known for your generosity."

The shadows condensed and solidified in front of her. "Are you refusing?" Jareth asked.

The words breathed warmly over her ear, tickled down her neck. Sarah jerked back in surprise. God. She hadn't heard him get that close. She clamped her lips around a fresh wave of nausea. "Just do it," she ground out.

Another chuckle and Sarah's fingers clutched her jeans in irritation. "Just so I don't startle you," and she could hear the smug grin in Jareth's voice, "I'll have to touch you."

Sarah shrugged, remembered it was pitch dark, and made a sound of agreement. The cool, soft pad of his finger rested against the center of her forehead. His other hand found, with amazing accuracy, the horned amulet around her neck and pressed against it. Sarah tried very hard to keep her breathing normal and her pulse steady.

"My, my, that is rather nasty, isn't it?"

She didn't think he expected an answer, so she remained quiet. The Goblin King hummed softly, almost to himself, and the air stirred around her lips. The place where he touched her began to warm, and she thought she caught the twinkle of gold at the corner of her eyes. Before she could examine it, though, Jareth pulled away.

"There, that should work quite nicely."

Much to Sarah's surprise, it did. She sighed with relief as the pain ebbed, slumped against the rough stone wall behind her, and listened to Jareth move away.

"Where are we?" she asked as she tried to find a comfortable position. She sat on dry earth sprinkled with sharp gravel.

Jareth shifted. "Funny story, that," he said, although his tone sounded anything but amused. "Your brilliant display attracted quite a lot of attention. Those two sisters showed up along with a whole contingent of guards—the devil only knows where _they_ came from. People were shouting, the place was crumbling around us. It was quite confusing for awhile."

"Getting to the point soon, I hope."

"You destroyed the Tower, Sarah."

"Destroyed?"

"Annihilated, eradicated, wrecked, ruined." She wasn't sure if that was amused praise in his voice or snide disapproval. "_Ravaged_."

The word coiled hotly around her and Sarah's fingers curled into the dirt at her sides. The conversation reminded her why she'd been unconscious in the first place. And she couldn't help but remember how Jareth had felt before everything had gone black, pressed against her, his fingers in her hair, his mouth, cool and soft, sliding so easily over hers. His hips nestle so perfectly between her thighs.

But this Goblin King before her was different from the one who'd been in her dreams…at least, the one who'd been in her dreams lately. He wasn't the feral creature she'd discovered, but he was as cynical as the first time they'd met again, just weeks ago; a touch of a sneer laced his voice, a hint of cruelty slid through his lips. She felt like she was starting from scratch with him, and a part of her mourned the loss of her charismatic Goblin King. _And here I was actually starting to like him…_

"I must say, the chaos you caused was worth seeing. However, the subsequent move into another dungeon with better security, was not quite as amusing."

"Okay," she said, slowly. If what he said was true, they were somewhere else. She wasn't entirely sure what she was supposed to do now that she'd found Jareth, but sitting around until the enemy queen decided to let them go—or, worse, decided they should be separated from their heads—sound like the poorer of options. "So, how are you going to free us?"

Jareth gave a humorless laugh. "_Me_? I have no power over…well, anything, at the moment." His voice was snidely mocking.

"But you got rid of my headache."

"Equivalent to a parlor trick." And she could just imagine him waving her words away. "I was simply acting as a channel for your own desires." He paused, then added, somewhat reluctantly it seemed, "You do hold a certain amount of power, Sarah." Her fingers curled around the amulet. "Good girl," he said, condescendingly. "Now, magic us out."

"What?"

His sigh sounded annoyed. "Have you suddenly become hard of hearing as well as daft? Get us out of here."

Sarah's brow furrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about." She let the insults slide in the face of her confusion. "I can't do anything like that."

"Just _what_, exactly, were you doing while traipsing through the entire Underground?" Jareth asked, his voice harsh. "Picking bloody flowers?"

"I was trying to find _you_," Sarah snapped back. "Now I'm not even sure why." _Ungrateful bastard_. She contemplated the darkness where she thought he sat. "Besides, isn't that your job? Isn't that the whole reason I'm here? To give you back whatever you lost?"

Another sigh, this one a little resigned. "It isn't quite that simple."

"Of course it isn't," Sarah grumbled. "Why would it be? Why should I think _anything_ with the Goblin King could just be _easy_?"

"Don't scowl so, love, it will age you prematurely."

Sarah froze. Held her breath. Strained to pierce the inky darkness. "You…you can see me?" she asked, softly.

"Of course."

Okay. No big deal. He could see in a pitch-black room. No harm, no foul. It wasn't like she'd been picking her nose or anything. But. "You couldn't have mentioned that a little sooner?"

"Is there a reason I should have?"

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Is there anything in here besides us?"

Silence. Then, "There is," Jareth said, sounding a bit surprised. "Your backpack, I believe."

Sarah waved her right hand along the ground beside her.

"Other side."

She repeated the motion on her left.

"It's a few paces from you."

Rolling carefully to her knees, Sarah crawled forward, blindly searching for her backpack as Jareth directed her. She bit her tongue around curses as rocks dug painfully into her knees and hands. By the time she stopped, she'd completely lost track of where she'd originally started.

"Just in front of you, princess."

Sarah sat back on her heels with a huff. This was ridiculous. "Either tell me where it really is, Goblin King, or get off your royal ass and get it for me," she said, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice.

"You really aren't much fun." He sounded like a sulky child. "It is directly in front of you, though, I swear."

She reached forward and her fingers closed around cloth—but not the slick nylon of her pack; it was supple leather encasing warm flesh. Jareth made a low sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat.

She was going to throttle him.

"A little higher, and I think you may have found it," Jareth purred in her ear.

Or skip that and just kill him.

But she'd heard a familiar rustle as he'd leaned forward. _Tricky, tricky, Goblin King,_ she thought. Slowly, she slid her hand up Jareth's thigh, adamantly telling herself it was for the purpose of finding her bag. The air around her face moved, but Jareth didn't make a sound. As her hand continued its path along the tight muscles of his leg, Sarah began to worry she'd been mistaken; began to think maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. And she would have quit, jerked her hand back and simply demanded he give over the bag, but that would be perilously close to admitting she'd lost—because everything with the Goblin King was a game of some sort—and she could just _see_ his insufferable smirk.

Her fingers brushed against hard plastic. With a triumphant sound, she grabbed her pack and pulled it from Jareth's lap. A muted noise came from the back of his throat, and Sarah bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. What she wouldn't give to see the expression on his face.

"I suppose that's what comes of playing with Sarah Williams," he muttered. But there may have been a note of begrudging admiration in his voice.

Feeling inordinately pleased for having won, she cheekily replied, "And don't you forget it, buster."

She rummaged around inside her pack, stopping when her hand closed around a familiar object. Breathing out sharply with relief, she pulled out her flashlight and clicked it on. The white beam splashed over Jareth, who winced and turned away.

"Please point your torch somewhere else," he said, holding up a hand.

Sarah did as requested, letting the light dance over the walls of their prison. She didn't remember putting the flashlight in her bag again; in fact, she distinctly remembered it falling from her grip when Jareth had…attacked her. She wondered if he'd rescued it for her.

She looked at the Goblin King from the corner of her eye. In the pale dimness, he wasn't exactly the picture of intimidation. His clothes were grimy and frayed, his hair, as wild as ever, hung in dirty tangles around a face drawn tight with exhaustion. He looked…haggard.

As she silently watched him, Jareth's eyes unfocused and he began to mutter under his breath, his fingers tracing strange symbols in the dirt. _That_ worried her. She reached out, stopped and pulled away before she touched him. He snapped back to attention when she quietly said his name. His brow furrowed and he shook his head, as though to clear it, then viciously wiped away what he'd drawn. Dust swirled angrily through the beam of Sarah's flashlight.

"My apologies," he said. "The madness lingers."

Concern touched Sarah's face. "My very own Hatter," she murmured. Jareth looked away from her, but not before she saw the way he closed his eyes, the way his mouth pulled down at the corners and the distressed line that appeared on his brow. The expression of almost…shame…made her want to reach out again to reassure him. Instead, she pulled the foil blanket from her pack, wrapped it around her shoulders, and looked around their faintly lit prison. "Well, which way to the rabbit hole?"

She looked curiously at Jareth when he leaned forward and made a soft sound of surprise. "Ah, this is exactly what we need." Sarah caught her breath at the way his eyes glittered with excitement and the smile touching his lips. "Has anyone ever told you you're brilliant, Sarah?"

She raised her eyebrows at the compliment. "What for?"

Jareth held up a bit of charred wood. "Charcoal," he said. He scrambled gracefully to his feet and turned to look at the wall. "Perfect for getting out of rooms with no doors."

_"The madness comes…Don't forget the charcoal…"_

It must have landed in her blanket when Grosvenor had hastily stamped out their fire. She would have thought it a serendipitous accident, but she was starting to believe there were very few coincidences where the Goblin King was concerned.

"I'm afraid you'll have to do this." Sarah looked up to find him holding the piece of burned wood out to her. Pushing to her feet, she took the charcoal then glanced from it to Jareth. He gestured toward the wall. "Draw a door for us," he said, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Okay." She placed the wood against the stone.

"Make sure it's a continuous line."

Crouching, Sarah drew a slightly wobbly line up from the floor. She started to draw a line across, looked over her shoulder at Jareth and gauged his height, then drew the door a little taller. She thought she heard a chuckle and a murmured, "Considerate," but wasn't sure. When she was finished, she took a step back and tilted her head to examine her handiwork. It seemed incomplete…

"A doorknob," she said, stepping forward to draw a circle on the left side of her rectangle.

"Well done, princess. Now we make our escape."

Sarah squinted at the wall. It still looked like stone with black lines on it. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, maybe more fireworks, but she had to admit she was a little disappointed. "And how are we going to do that?" she asked. "It's only a wall. There's no way through."

"Wish it into a door," Jareth told her, almost as though he couldn't believe she didn't know the answer.

"Look, we've been over this," Sarah said, turning to face him. "No matter what you say, I don't make wishes." _Not on purpose, anyway…_

Jareth was silent for a moment, contemplating her. "Of course. Well, that certainly makes leaving here much more difficult."

"Tell me again why you can't do this?"

"_Because_, Sarah, at this precise moment, I am _nothing_," he nearly shouted at her. Sarah's eyes widened and she resisted the urge to take a step away. "Without you, I am simply a man who will live a very long time, should the queen allow me to do so, which becomes more and more _unlikely_ the longer we stand around and _chat_ about this."

"Without…me?"

Jareth's mouth pulled into a disgruntled line and he looked away. Sarah took a deep breath and decided not to push, despite her curiosity.

"Okay, how do we get you back to all your Goblin King glory?"

She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a hint of gratitude around Jareth's eyes when he looked at her again. "The heart of the problem lies with the missing piece." He reached out to lightly touch the amulet resting against her chest.

Sarah held it up and ran a finger over the indention. _The missing piece…The heart of the problem…_

"Are you saying…because it's missing a piece, you are too?"

Jareth inclined his chin slightly, but didn't answer otherwise. Sarah blew out a frustrated breath and released the necklace. This would be so much easier if he would be a little more willing to volunteer information instead of making her drag it out of him.

_But then, I suppose, he wouldn't be Jareth…_

"Do you know where the piece is?" she asked.

"Yes."

She waited a beat and, when he didn't elaborate, she asked, "Well, where is it?"

"Where is what?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you being aggravating on purpose?"

A faint smile brushed Jareth's lips. "No."

"Then why can't you just answer the damn—?"

_"It's hopeless asking you anything."_

_"_Not_ if you ask the right questions."_

Sarah grinned at the Goblin King. "Where will I find the piece to the amulet?" she asked, and Jareth's smile grew.

"With Queen Anann."

That wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear, even if it was nice to finally have a name. "And the chances of getting it from her are…?"

"Slim."

"Why am I _really_ here?"

"To rescue me," Jareth said. His gaze traveled downward, lingered around her shoes before slowly moving back up to her face. "Although, I must say, your armor is rather dull."

"Why am I playing against someone I've never met?" Sarah pressed. His replies weren't exactly elucidative, but at least he was answering her questions. "Or even heard of? Why now? And what does she want with me?"

"Ah, mortals." Jareth leaned casually against the far wall. "With all your illusions of grandeur, it's no wonder you've survived so long."

"I shouldn't even be here," Sarah muttered, glaring at the charcoal in her hand and ignoring Jareth's disparaging comment. "This is outrageous. If we were in _my_ world, that woman would be charged with kidnapping."

"By our law, though, she's within her rights." Jareth paused, then added, "Sort of."

"'Sort of?'" Sarah repeated, aiming her glare at him. "What does that mean, 'sort of'?"

"The law says an individual who has been wronged can seize those guilty of the wrong doing."

Sarah thought about that for a minute. "So I've committed a crime by coming to rescue you," she finally concluded.

But Jareth shook his head and a mysterious smile flirted with the edges of his mouth. "No, it isn't anything you've done, my dear," he told her. "But what you _will_ do."

She stared at the Goblin King, confusion then disbelief rendering her temporarily mute. She was being punished for something she hadn't even _done_? Incarcerated for an act not yet thought of? "That's…that's not…" She couldn't finish the sentence while she tried to wrap her mind around what Jareth was telling her.

"Not fair?" Jareth supplied with a smirk. "Of course it's not, princess." He pushed away from the wall and paced a short line. "You could be ransomed by someone."

"_Who_? No one even knows I'm here!" Except Jareth, which wasn't any help at the moment.

Jareth shrugged and nodded. "And so, everything works out perfectly in her favor," he said, softly. "Check."

"This _isn't_ a game, Goblin King," Sarah snapped. "This is your life. And mine."

A vague look of disappointment crossed Jareth's face. "A game of life and death, then. But a game, nonetheless. If you don't learn the rules and how to maneuver quickly, we'll both lose."

Sarah sucked in a breath of realization. "She _planned_ this. She knew you would call for me if she took you, knew I would come." Jareth's expression didn't change and, when he kept his eyes carefully away from hers, anger rose in her at another, more malicious, thought. She took three swift steps across the room and pushed against his shoulder, hard enough to force him around to face her. "Are you a part of this?" she asked, the question dangerously soft.

Jareth looked blankly at her. "Are you asking if I've conspired against you?"

"Yes."

"Are you _insinuating_ I would willingly undergo possibly irreversible insanity to lure you into her clutches?"

Sarah stared steadily back at him, every muscle in her body quivering with fury. A tiny voice was whispering she'd come to the wrong conclusion, that there was something bigger and more complicated at play here—something she couldn't puzzle out because she didn't have enough clues. But she ignored that quiet voice. Anger flared the edges of her nostrils and tightened the line of her mouth.

"It's certainly starting to look that way from where I'm standing." Her voice trembled with the effort it was taking not to scream at him.

Jareth leaned forward until their noses were almost touching, the cerulean of his eyes hidden behind an ominous stormy grey. "You assume you know what's going on here, princess," he said, voice silky with danger. "But you have no idea. This isn't about _you—_it's never really been about you."

"If not me, then who?"

"Who's it _always_ been about?" he countered.

She was holding onto her temper by a very worn and tattered thread. Questions answered with questions that only led to more _questions_. "What does she think I'm going to do?" she asked, trying not to shout it in Jareth's face.

"Why, what any good protagonist does." He smiled grimly and leaned away from her. "Thwart evil, bring about the golden age. Dethrone the usurper and put the rightful, long-lost heir in the despot's place."

"And just who is this rightful heir?" Sarah asked with a sneer. "You?"

Jareth laughed and shook his head. "Of course not, silly girl. I, however unwillingly, already have my hands full with a kingdom of goblins." He pushed away from the wall and idly began to walk around the room. His path appeared aimless at first, but Sarah slowly realized she was the center of a lazy spiral. "Think about it, Sarah," he said as he walked behind her.

She furrowed her brow. "I don't know anyone who could be a king." A humorless smile cleared away her frown. "Besides you, of course."

Jareth paused at her shoulder. His mouth hovered next to her ear, and she could hear his smug grin as he whispered, "How _sweet_."

Sarah turned away. "Are you going to tell me or are we playing a new game?"

Jareth rocked back on his heels. "Ah, princess, you know me too well." When she looked at him again, an amused smile curved his mouth. "_Think_, Sarah. Of all the people who have moved in and out of your life, which one have you felt the closest to? Which one has…connected with you the best?"

"Are we talking, like, physically? Because I can start making a list, if that's what you're looking for." Something dark and dangerous and undeniably male flashed in Jareth's eyes. His smile fell away and he stared back at her. Curious about the reaction, Sarah tried not to smirk as she said, "I mean, there was Jake."

_You know what happened to the cat,_ a voice in her head warned.

"We connected on a regular basis."

Jareth's fingers curled into his palms so tightly his knuckles whitened.

"And there was this guy my senior year of high school."

A muscle in Jareth's cheek jumped.

"He taught me all about…connecting."

Perhaps, she mused later, it was unwise to bait someone like Jareth. At the moment, she could barely keep the grin from her face.

"I think the one I was _closest_ with, though, was this guy I met my sophomore year of college. He did this thing where—"

"_Enough_!" Jareth roared, making Sarah jump.

He stalked toward her, herding her into the wall so quickly her eyes didn't have time to relay the message to her brain that she should be running for her life. When his hands slammed against the stone to either side of her, when she found herself cornered with no hope of escape, she ruefully admitted maybe she'd gone too far. Certainly, when she glanced up at him through her lashes, she began to think there must be better past-times—ones that didn't involve goading the Goblin King.

Because he looked _furious_.

Well, she'd wanted a reaction and she'd gotten one. Now she just had to figure out how to survive the next few minutes.

* * *

**Chapter Title:** "You remind me of the man." "_What man?_" "The man with the power." "_What power?_" "The power of hoodoo." "_Who-do?_" "You do." "_Do what?_" "Remind me of the man." "_What man?_" _The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer_, starring Cary Grant, Myrna Loy, and Shirley Temple.


	21. Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

White rimmed the tight line of Jareth's mouth. Bolts of pale yellow crackled through the turbulent grey-blue of his eyes. Sarah could feel the hot emotion rolling from him; it crashed against her, incensed waves battering against a shore, and nearly stole her breath with its intensity. Her fingers scrabbled over the cold, unyielding stone at her back, frantically searching—hoping,_ wishing—_for any means of escape from the tiny dungeon before she drowned.

God, she'd never seen him so mad.

And yet, despite the apprehensive pounding of her heart, warning her that _Here be danger!_ she allowed a small laugh to pass defiantly through her lips. "What's wrong, Goblin King?" she taunted. "Jealous?"

He drew in a breath, nostrils flaring. "You think too highly of yourself, little girl, to even _suggest_ I'd care about your trysts with those pathetic mortals."

A knowing smile curved Sarah's lips. This wasn't the first time he'd become angry over the subject of other men—he'd become downright surly when she'd first started traveling with Grosvenor—and it only made her doubt his vehement declination. She leaned forward, ignoring the feel of Jareth's solid body brushing tantalizingly against hers as she concentrated on the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"I think," she whispered, licking her lips, "the Goblin King protests too much."

Jareth didn't seem to have a flippant response handy, which pleased Sarah as much as it disappointed her. Maybe a tiny part of her wanted him to _admit_ the reason he was currently throwing a temper tantrum, but right now she was simply enjoying the blank look he was giving her.

Until he tilted his chin pretentiously. Whatever he saw on her face made a slow smirk, almost identical to the one she wore, tip one side of his mouth.

"Ah." It was a conclusive sound, breathed out with a soft, condescending chuckle. "I see. Have you _presumed_ to think since you'll end up loving me, I'll reciprocate the feeling?"

Sarah's smile fell away. A terrible knot tangled in her chest at his words, worked its way up her throat even as her stomach dropped. Of course she thought he'd..._reciprocate—_why else would she ever fall in love with him? What had he ever really done other than antagonize her? The idea of feeling anything warmer than suspicious indifference for the Goblin King had been outlandish from the moment he'd mentioned it.

A part of her couldn't help remembering how he'd been in her dreams, though. The way he'd smiled, the way he'd laughed. His touches...his kiss, unsatisfactory as it had been, had still made her skin heat, her breath catch, brought every nerve painfully to life in a way she'd never experienced. Those flashes of what she'd thought were genuine emotions—those had made the thought of loving him seem almost plausible. So, somewhere in the back of her mind, she must have figured he'd prove more than the villain, truly turn into her hero, not by the things he did, but simply because he loved her in return.

She should have known better. Love winning over all only happened in fairy tales, and she'd seen first hand how those really turned out. And Jareth had already told her hadn't fallen in love with her when she'd run his labyrinth. Thirteen years obviously hadn't changed the sentiment.

"Why would I ever do something so foolish?" Jareth's mouth hovered over hers, the words coldly kissing her lips. "What makes you think you're _so special_?"

_"I'm the one you love, but not the one you fall in love with."_

It was a riddle, she knew; a riddle whose answer would resolve all this confusion he caused within her.

Because no matter how much of an arrogant prick he was, no matter how cruel his words were, Sarah was almost shamefully drawn to Jareth, like iron yanked toward a magnet. A part of her was always exceedingly aware of _him_, a familiarity that had nothing to do with their meeting when she was fifteen. It was a strange feeling, as though she had known him as an adult but had somehow forgotten, although she didn't believe in soul mates or past lives. Whatever the explanation, she found it difficult, sometimes, to resist pushing against him, molding every inch of herself to the long, tight line of his—

Sarah's still questing hand along the wall bumped into a smooth, cool protrusion...something round and surprisingly familiar. She gripped it tightly, muscles quivering as she tried to remain as still as possible—if she dared move, she thought it very likely she'd smack that snide grin off the Goblin King's face.

Or kiss him.

But this game wasn't a physical one. Yet. So, she said, "You." When Jareth arched a questioning eyebrow, she clarified. "You made me special. You sought _me_ out for help, a pathetic mortal," she mocked his lofty tone, "put your life in _my_ hands and trusted me to make it on time. Without _me_, you'd have rotted in that tower." She tilted her head in a clear imitation of him. "I always thought maybe my power over you was tenuous all those years ago, but I'm starting to think it's considerably stronger, now."

His gaze flickered toward the pendant she wore and his mouth twitched briefly into an irked line. "Like a noose round my neck," he muttered. "That you pull ever tighter." He sniffed disdainfully. "Make no mistake, princess, you're no more than a pawn being wielded in a game too complicated for you to understand."

Sarah's eyes narrowed dangerously at the implication she was not only worthless, but unintelligent as well.

Jareth blithely ignored her expression, an insolent smile spreading over his face. "A weak, helpless piece sent out into the fray to be slaughtered," he continued in a whisper. "I only tell you this so you don't start getting any ideas about your worth. Mortals tend to dream of being greater. You, especially, have always managed to fool yourself into thinking you're somehow more important than you really are."

A flush of indignant anger seared over Sarah's cheeks. She knew—_knew—_the only reason he was saying these things was because she had tread closer to some truth than he was comfortable; he'd twisted conversations like this before. But since the minute she'd woken up, he'd been nothing but a pain in her ass. She'd tried to brush it off, told herself he was just irritated with their situation and, maybe, sharing her fear that they wouldn't make it out alive.

Between one breath and the next, though, he'd crossed from a tolerable, sulking child to being downright insufferable, and Sarah was loathe to spend another minute in his presence. She squeezed the round object she'd found a little more tightly, gave a sharp twist of her wrist, and pushed into the cold stone at her back as hard as she could.

The doorknob she'd drawn worked beautifully. The section of wall she'd enclosed with the charcoal line swung outward as though on well-oiled hinges. Sarah followed the movement smoothly.

Jareth, caught off-guard and off-balance, stumbled forward. He managed to catch himself before he fell face-first into the ground on the other side, much to Sarah's dismay, and shot her a glare. Then he smoothed the expression away as easily as the wrinkle he smoothed out of his dirty shirt.

"I wondered how far I'd have to go before you figured out how to do that." He smiled when Sarah stared at him. "Really, Sarah, you're a wonderful manipulator of your environment. The only thing hindering you is your refusal to believe." When she remained mute, he sighed and made a short gesture. "Gather your things so we can leave this dreadful place."

Sarah moved automatically, responding to the thread of command in Jareth's voice. Her brain thawed somewhere between folding her blanket and zipping up her backpack. "I'm manipulative?" she muttered as she hooked her arms through the straps of her bag. "_I'm_ manipulative?" Unsure if she was annoyed or impressed he knew the precise buttons to push to get them out of that damn cell, she stomped back out to Jareth—

—and into a forest.

"_Another_ forest?" she groused. "By the time this is all over, I'm never going to want to see anything green again."

"How fortunate my labyrinth has very little of the color, then," Jareth commented absently while he looked around.

Sarah was left staring at him all over again. "I'm...I'm not going back there." His eyes jerked in her direction, a confused crease marring his brow. "You said unless things went very wrong, I didn't have to go back."

Jareth's expression cleared suddenly and he looked a bit disgruntled, as though agitated with himself. Understanding swept through Sarah when he refused to look at her.

"Oh," she breathed as he scowled and turned away. "Did you think...?" Had he thought she'd be going back..._with him_? "Why?" Why would he assume that? Especially when he'd taken every recent opportunity to make it clear he felt nothing for her at all? Sarah cleared her throat. "I mean...I thought you'd send me home as soon as we were done."

"I only ever do what you wish, Sarah," he muttered.

He was silent for hours afterward, and Sarah ground her teeth around the urge to scream in frustration. Within the span of a sentence, she was left uncertain as to whether he hated her, liked her, or merely suffered her presence. She concentrated on not shooting daggers into his back, cut short an idle wish to be in the jovial company of Grosvenor again. At least the hunter had _talked_; the Goblin King seemed intent on ignoring her.

And to drag her along the most overgrown, bramble-infested path he could find.

"Jareth, I need to rest," Sarah finally huffed.

She didn't wait for him to reply, simply plopped down on the first fallen, moss-covered tree she came across. Jareth wandered back toward her, his face devoid of expression. As he silently peered into the thick wood, Sarah's weary gaze traveled the length of him. And she was annoyed to find that, despite being dirty and disheveled, he still looked...well, good. The small rents in his clothing, the smear of dirt along one high cheekbone, the wild mess of his hair, made him look rakish, not bedraggled. Sleek and long, smooth skin stretched tightly over compact muscle, he had a body built for quickness and endurance. Like a dancer or a runner. Like...a hunter.

"Like what you see, princess?"

The query was soft but, strangely, held none of the biting sarcasm she'd come to expect. A hot flush climbed her throat, though, as she raised her eyes to meet his.

"You're a little thin," she told him, grateful her mouth knew what to do because the rest of her had regressed into a blushing teenager. She paused to regroup, then wrinkled her nose playfully. "And you could use a bath."

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "You have foliage sprouting from your hair," he said, turning away from her.

Sarah glowered at him and resisted the urge to blurt out, _Yeah, well, you have no power over me, so nanny nanny boo boo_.

As she pulled the elastic band from her hair and worked on removing bits of leaves from her sable locks, she noticed Jareth surreptitiously wipe a hand over the dirt streaking one glittery cheek. When he looked at her again, it was Sarah's turn to glance away, hiding the grin teasing the corners of her lips.

"Are you rested?"

With a sigh, Sarah stood and, taking the lead, began fighting her way through the wood. She shoved prickly branches aside, half-hoping they'd snap back to whip Jareth in the face or stomach—_That'll teach him to pick the path of most resistance,_ she thought, smugly—and daydreamed about pouring concrete over her backyard garden when she returned home.

When she came to an abrupt halt, Jareth made a disapproving noise in his throat. "A little warning, next time," he muttered. "I nearly trampled you. What are you looking at?"

A large tree cut across the path. Its roots, gnarled and ugly, cradled a small pool of black water. Among the dark, clawing branches, pieces of material fluttered in a non-existent breeze like multicolored ghosts. The space around it was dim, threads of darkness eschewing the sunlight and spicing the air with a sinister tang. A shiver touched the back of Sarah's neck and crawled down her spine.

"What is that?"

She _felt_ Jareth tense, like someone pulling a string taut over her skin. "A Clootie Well," he said, softly. Without further explanation, he wrapped a hand around her upper arm and tugged her backward. "Let's find another way, Sarah."

She frowned and dug her heels in. "What are you talking about? The path clearly goes this way and it's the only one we've seen." Jareth's fingers tightened and she fought to keep a squeak of pain from her voice. "Let me go."

"We'll find another route," he said as he began dragging her back the way they'd come.

"Are you _listening_? There _aren't_ any other paths."

"Then we'll go around."

"That will take forever!" Sarah jerked in his grasp again. "Let. Me. _Go_, Jareth."

No protest, no hesitation; Jareth released her with almost robot-like immediacy. Sarah rubbed her arm, lifting the sleeve of her shirt to check for bruises, and scowled at him. The Goblin King's nostrils flared and he stared stonily into the distance.

"This...feels familiar," she finally said.

"Much of this country is covered in woods," Jareth began, forced indifference in his voice.

"No, not that. You doing something I've asked."

A muscle in his cheek jumped. "I don't recall you _asking_," he sneered. And was that a touch of bitterness she heard?

"Okay, telling you, then," Sarah amended with a shrug. She contemplated the clean line of his profile. "Is that it?" she asked. "Do I have to..._command_ you to do something?"

Jareth snorted. "No, Sarah."

Her fingers stilled their absent movement along her arm and she stared at him. He'd never said her name like that...softly, drawing it out on his tongue as though savoring the taste. In fact, he _never_ said her name—he used whatever nickname or epithet he deemed appropriate at the time—or, at least, he rarely did and then it was usually because he was trying to tell her something important, trying to get her to pay attention.

Trying to get her to _do_ something.

"Your name," she murmured. "That's what it is, isn't it?"

Something that may have been approval touched Jareth's mouth and Sarah wondered what he was thinking when he looked at her that way. It was as though he found her to be infinitely clever and was proud when she proved him right.

"Names are very powerful things to know here. You know mine and so..." He flicked his fingers in a vague gesture.

"I have power over you." Jareth's smile morphed into a derisive line. "But Hoggle was the one who told me," Sarah said. "_He_ knows it."

"He's my subject, a creature of the Labyrinth," Jareth replied. He paused, seemed to consider his words, then shrugged. "Or nearly, anyway. Regardless, I'm his sovereign, so of course he knows my name."

"What's to stop him from just telling everyone?"

Jareth shrugged. "He can't, just as he can't use my name to compel me." His gaze was filled with irony when he added, "But I have no such..._authority_...over you, remember?"

The way he spat the words out made Sarah wince slightly. Not for the first time since defeating him and his labyrinth, she felt a pang of guilt. She wondered if she should apologize, but quickly dismissed the idea. He wouldn't believe her because she wasn't sure she'd really mean it. She had played her part as well as he and had no regrets.

At least, she hadn't. Now, though...

Sarah let her backpack slide to the ground, giving her shoulders some relief. "How could he have told me, then?"

"Because you've already been to the Labyrinth." Jareth's tone suggested she should have figured this out. He sighed when she shook her head in confusion. "Hoggle already knew who you were—_we_ already knew you, you just hadn't met us yet."

"You're not making any sense, Goblin King."

"Time is relative in the Labyrinth—"

"It doesn't move in a straight line."

Jareth nodded and another one of those genuinely proud smiles touched his lips. "Exactly," he said. "So, your first meeting with Hoggle was the _second_ for him."

_"Excuse me?"_

_"Oh! Excuse me! Oh. It's you..."_

_"...You're horrible!"_

_"Huh? No, I ain't. I'm Hoggle. Who're you?"_

_"Sarah."_

_"That's what I thought."_

"Are they okay?" Sarah asked, suddenly. She'd never inquired about the well-being of the Labyrinth's inhabitants in her dreams—she'd been too focused on the task at hand. "Hoggle and Sir Didymus and Ludo? Has anything happened to them in your...absence?"

"I haven't exactly been in the right state of mind to check on them," Jareth said dryly. "But they were fine when I left."

There was a thread of uncertainty in his voice. Sarah's immediate reaction was to push—"What does that mean? You don't know if any of them are okay? What _happened_ after I left?"—but Jareth's expression tightened and she pressed her lips together to stem the deluge of questions. If her friends were in danger, he'd tell her...right? Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"You don't like this place, do you?"

When she looked at him, Jareth had shifted his gaze from her again. "It's a little creepy," she admitted.

Jareth frowned slightly and shook his head. He made a vague gesture, encompassing the trees and everything else around them. "No, I'm talking about _here_," he said. "This world. The Underground." He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "You don't like it."

Sarah gazed at the dark, looming trees, dropped her eyes to the thick mossy forest floor, the chalk-dust path. How strange it was, she thought, that it was like her own world and yet...not. She tilted her chin up to peer through the dense canopy overhead. Daubs of sunlight briefly painted her face. She thought about the crystal palace she'd first come across, Kira and Jen, the nosy Podlings, the castle Talia visited searching for a long-lost love. She thought about the little hut that had provided her with shelter, the forest she'd traveled through with Grosvenor, which had seemed far less ominous in the company of someone willing to laugh and joke with her.

"It's...strange." She thought Jareth may have slumped a little, but when she looked at him, he just stood there, regal as ever. She wondered if her answer was truly important to him or if he was steering the conversation again. "Not necessarily in a bad way," she added. "It's sort of like being caught in a surreal dream that belongs to someone else." She paused. "It's growing on me, though. I love how the air tingles with anticipation, like it's Christmas Eve and I'm a kid again. Or how the moonlight feels like a splash of cool water against my skin at night."

He was staring at her, hard, his eyes narrowed. But not, she realized, with anger or malice. The silence stretched and Sarah shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like she'd said something silly. She gave a soft laugh and waved her hand, as though to wipe away her words.

"And you caught me," she chuckled. "The closet romantic finally came out."

Jareth stared at her a moment longer before smiling faintly. "When you speak like that about this place..." He trailed off and seemed to contemplate his next words. "It's interesting to see my world through someone else's eyes."

A touch of melancholy colored his tone. Sarah felt something tighten in her chest and she took a step forward.

"Are you very alone in you castle?" she asked, softly.

Jareth tilted his head to the side and watched as she advanced another step. "Of course not, silly girl," he said. But there was less bite in his tone than usual. "I have a horde of goblins to keep me company."

Sarah nodded. Swallowed as she took another step. She didn't know what she was doing, but she felt the very human urge to...what? To comfort him? Ridiculous. The Goblin King was formidable and stalwart, he certainly didn't need compassion from some _silly girl_.

"Oh," she said. "They must be very interesting creatures to hold your attention."

"Are you kidding? Most of them are dumb as bricks and the ones that aren't are more interested in causing trouble than anything else. At least with you, I get something that resembles stimulating conversation."

Jareth paused for a breath. Then, his eyes jerked away from hers, his entire body stiffened. Sarah bit her bottom lip to prevent it from pulling into a smile—it was almost...charming...the way he sometimes admitted more than he meant to when she got him talking. Another step, close enough now that all she had to do was lift her arm if she wanted to touch him.

"Is that why you harass me? Because you...like to talk to me?"

Jareth shrugged a shoulder and raised his gaze to the dense leaves overhead. "You have more in your head than chicken feathers," he said, voice heavy with nonchalance. Sarah smiled faintly. He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. "Although, sometimes I wonder."

She laughed softly, reached out and let the tips of her fingers brush against a tear in his shirt sleeve. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but didn't look at him. "Yeah, me too," she murmured.

Silence. Then, "You're unhappy."

Unhappy? She didn't think so. She was sore and tired, and knew she could definitely use a bath herself. And the forest, as the day began to wan, was starting to give her a serious case of the heebie-jeebies. But...unhappy?

"You're different than I remember," Jareth continued.

Sarah looked up—became caught a gaze shimmering like quicksilver in the fading amber light. Became rooted to the spot as Jareth slowly reached up and brushed her hair from her face, careful not to touch her anywhere else.

"I grew up."

But Jareth shook his head. "It's more than that." He contemplated the lock of hair winding around his fingers. "Your eyes hold a deep sorrow."

"Jake," she murmured. The gaping wound in her chest had healed. Maybe not completely, but over the past few weeks the throb of loss that had once threatened to double her over had become less...intense. "I miss him," she admitted.

"You loved him deeply."

"He was my best friend. I counted on him to be there when I needed a shoulder to lean on or someone to talk to. He was a good person." Sarah smiled softly and shook her head. "It sounds silly to say, but Jake was just one of those people who didn't have any flaws."

"Except he was mortal."

"That's not really considered a flaw in most circles," Sarah pointed out.

A faint smile. "Maybe not in _your_ circles. But it's not just your husband, I think." The pad of Jareth's thumb swept lightly over her cheek. "You lost your belief in the magic when he died, didn't you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Faint golden light sparkled in the corner of Sarah's vision. She turned her head to examine it; found the side of her face cupped against Jareth's bare palm. Something electric shivered over her skin.

"Such a pity," Jareth murmured. But not unkindly.

He leaned forward, the color of his eyes lost to shadows. His fingers slipped into her hair, curled through the locks and held her firmly in place. The steady rhythm of Sarah's heart faltered. Her lips parted, a futile attempt to get more air into her lungs. Jareth's smooth scent melted on the back of her tongue like rich chocolate. She kept her eyes open until she felt his breath against her cheek, resisted the urge to lick her lips. To close the millimeters between them and crush her mouth against his. The air between them thickened, quivered with expectancy. Liquid heat curled through Sarah, her body tightened in anticipation—

Cool air invaded the space between them, washed over Sarah's flushed face and neck. Her eyes snapped open as she felt Jareth's hand slip from her hair. He stepped back farther, his gaze flickering quickly away from her.

"We should get moving," he said, his voice lower and huskier than usual.

Everything inside of her _screamed_ at his retreat and Sarah barely managed to keep it stuffed behind her teeth. She considered throwing herself at him, but quickly rejected the idea. She had her pride, after all. She took a moment to resolidify her brain, which had nearly melted into grey sludge, then took a deep breath.

"So...what's the deal with the...whatchamacallit?"

"Clootie Well," Jareth said, tightly. "It's a place where people have made offerings to heal their ailments."

"Then why are you acting like it's dangerous?"

"Because in _your_ world, it's a benign shrine. Here, it's a very different thing."

Sarah glanced over her shoulder, but the Clootie Well had been swallowed by the forest. "What does that mean?"

Jareth spun on her so quickly she took a startled step away. "Must you ask so many infernal _questions_?" he snarled. "Can't you just shut up and do as you're _told_?"

Sarah's eyes widened briefly in shock before narrowing. "Can't you just tell me what the hell is going on?" she snarled back. "Can't you for once drop the enigmatic prick mask and just be...be..." She groped for a word. "..._nice_?" The air crackled balefully around them, the promise of an impending storm. "And, no, I will not _shut up_ and do as I'm told. I'm here to help _you_," she snapped. "I can leave anytime I please, and don't you forget it."

Jareth drew back slightly, as though her words had smacked him in the face. _I wish,_ Sarah thought angrily. He looked stunned for the amount of time it took her to pull in another breath.

"Why don't you, then?" he asked.

Sarah drew up short, her snide comment dying on her tongue. "Why don't I what?"

"Leave," he said. "If you find the task of helping me so arduous, why don't you just leave?"

His tone was neutral, as though he didn't care one way or another what she did. But Sarah thought she caught a hint of emotion flashing through his eyes, twisting at his mouth, and she shook her head.

"Self-pity doesn't look good on you, Goblin King," she said, a little less surly than she'd intended. "Quit treating me like I'm one of your subjects." She almost added, _You aren't the boss of me,_ but thought that sounded rather childish. "You take me for granted, you know," she said, instead.

"How so, princess?"

"Well, for one, you order me around like I'm at your beck and call," she said. "Stop it. If I'm going to help you, you're going to let me _help_. We're going to be equals in this or I'm going to haul your sorry glittery ass to the nearest oubliette."

Jareth smirked. "I'd like to see you—"

"_Secondly_," she interrupted, giving him a warning look. "You act like I'm supposed to _know_ what's going on. Well, I don't, okay? I don't know a damn thing about this place, who the hell is coming after us, or what's going to happen. I'm human, Jareth, don't forget."

"It's one of the very few things I don't forget about you, princess." She glared at him and he tilted his head to the side. "Anything else you'd like to add to your list of demands?"

Sarah resisted the urge to throttle him. "I'd demand you act more like a gentleman and less like an ungrateful bastard," she said. "But that may be going too far." When his expression didn't change, Sarah snatched her backpack from the ground in frustration and began to storm away.

"Is that what you really think of me?"

The question wove through the air, tenuously thin and vulnerable, as though the merest thought would squash it flat. Sarah turned around, her eyes searching his face. What she found didn't surprise her. He had a weird knack for not wearing the tone of his voice, as though his expression was divorced from what he was saying. And because of that, Sarah was never sure what to believe—what he said or how he looked.

With a heavy sigh, she took a step toward him. She was tired and dirty, and the last thing she felt like doing was standing in the middle of a creepy twilight forest arguing. She wanted a soft bed, warm food, and maybe a hint of safety. "Sometimes," she admitted. "Sometimes I want to strangle you. Or hit you."

A smile flirted with Jareth's mouth—_not_ a smirk. An actual smile. Sarah braced herself for the full thing, blew out a breath when it didn't make an appearance. Those genuine expressions could be devastating, she knew, and most certainly would be responsible for her losing the battle against feeling anything for him. Instead, the smile resolved itself into something more thoughtful.

"Perhaps, we should—"

A loud _crack!_ echoed through the woods, drowning out the Goblin King's words. Before Sarah could do more than choke on a strangled yelp of surprise, Jareth grabbed her wrist and jerked her into the tangled vegetation lining the path. She briefly considered fighting him (leaving the path had been Rule Number One, and she'd learned the hard way what happened when the rules were broken) but his fingers tightened around her like bands of steel. She wasn't afraid of him, really, or what he was doing—in fact, she realized to her utter astonishment, she might actually _trust_ him. What she didn't understand, though, was how he'd crossed the six feet of distance between them so damn _fast_.

Dark green blurred on either side of Sarah as they ran—as Jareth _dragged_ her at a speed she would never keep. Cold dread pulsed from him; she felt it in the way his hand gripped hers, saw it in the twisted expression on his face. The feeling of suddenly being in mortal peril made Sarah's heart leap up her throat. She stumbled, started to gasp "I'm okay, keep _going_!" But Jareth swept her off her feet before she could recover, continued crashing through the thick undergrowth. Sarah instinctively curled into him, trying to keep the reed-thin branches from slicing her arms and whipping against her face.

When the world felt like it had stopped flinging itself past them, Sarah tentatively opened one eye.

"Wha—?"

Her question was suffocated against Jareth's cool palm. He ignored her glare. "Don't move," he breathed into her ear. "Don't make any noise."

Talking was completely out of the question. With his back to a tree, he held Sarah tightly, her arms trapped between them. His breathes came short and shallow, lightly stirring her hair and curling down her neck. Even the feeling of imminent danger gathering thickly in the air couldn't entirely distract her from how they were pressed together from chest to knee.

"Can you see them?" Jareth whispered.

Sarah tentatively peered over his shoulder, through the tangled strands of his wild blond hair, ignoring the delicious way it shifted her against him—forgot about all that lean, hard muscle and was glad of his hand over her mouth when she involuntarily gasped.

They were short, stocky creatures, all sporting scraggly beards that fell to their knees. Their tunics may have once been a motley of colors, but now were a uniform grey-brown, spattered with dirt and dark stains. They moved silently through the trees, like shadows oozing between the foliage.

It was their eyes, though, that made Sarah's skin crawl. Set deep beneath prominent brows, the small men's eyes glowed an eerie yellowish orange, lit up every place their gazes fell.

"How many?"

Fear made even simple arithmetic impossible. Jareth stirred uneasily, moved his hand so his fingertips lightly touched Sarah's cheek. Golden warmth soaked into her, momentarily chased away the fog of horror.

"Six," she rasped. "There are six...And they're coming this way."

"They'll find us," Jareth murmured, his lips moving against her ear. "Out here in the open. Can you run again?"

_No_. "Yes."

There was nothing but the sound of her and Jareth scrambling through the forest when they broke away from the tree. She'd found some amount of comfort in the baying of the huge wolves that had chased her and Grosvenor. The silence from the dwarves only made them more frightening.

_Maybe they're not following us...maybe Jareth was wrong...maybe they don't want anything to do with us..._

Sarah risked a glance over her shoulder. The dwarves formed a wavy line behind them, one coming to a halt and raising something to his shoulder.

It took the span of one gasping breath to see the weapon held firmly between the dwarf's fingers before his face. When the bowstring released, it sang through the forest so loudly Sarah felt it snap against her skin. She tried to pull Jareth to the ground, out of the way. But she was too late. Too _slow_.

The arrow punched into Jareth with a sickeningly wet _thunk_.

And Sarah was sure it was just her overactive imagination, but for a breath time stopped and everything muted around her. Jareth arched, his eyes widened in surprised confusion. His lips parted in a silent scream of agony. Darkness blossomed over his shirt, a lurid stain spreading over his back.

The arrow hit him so hard it ripped him from Sarah and shoved him forward. When he crumpled to the ground, the sounds of the forest exploded back into focus and a screamed "_No_!" roared in her ears.

Sarah skidded to a halt, ripped a hole in her jeans as she fell to her knees next to Jareth. She rolled him onto his side, swallowed a cry of alarm and the sharp tang of bile in the back of her throat when she saw the point of the arrow gleaming wetly from his chest.

"What do I do?" she rasped, her voice tight with anger and fear because she felt suddenly helpless.

"Prepare yourself," Jareth whispered. He winced as he awkwardly pushed up onto his knees. "They will take you. The Clootie Well...a gateway giving the dark dwellers passage." He sucked in a rattling breath. "They hunt mortals here in the Underground...they will torture you, then force you into slavery if..."

"If what?" Sarah prompted urgently when he trailed off. When he shook his head, she forced him to look at her. "If _what_, Jareth?"

"If they don't kill you, first."

Sarah glanced over her shoulder. The dwarves were close enough she could see the sharp points of their yellowed teeth, bared in wide, vicious grins. Sarah ignored the cold knot of fear in her stomach, looped an arm under Jareth's and tried to haul him to his feet. The Goblin King hissed in pain, pitched forward and dragged them both back to the ground.

"They will take you," Jareth gasped again. "And there's nothing I can do without my magic. Sarah, you have to—"

They grabbed her by the ankles and yanked her away. Sarah screamed. Kicked her legs wildly. Tried to twist out of their grip. Razor-sharp leaves sliced her limbs and face. The mixture of pain and fear made her redouble her efforts. Somehow, she managed to roll onto her stomach. Small rocks and crushed plants scraped over her skin. Her nails bent, broke, the pain excruciating as she clawed the moist dirt. The terror shoving from her raw throat became broken sobs. Warm stickiness spread over the tips of her fingers. Thin lines of fire erupted over every inch of exposed skin, but she didn't stop fighting.

If they were going to kill her, they were going to have to _work_ for it.

She caught a glimpse of Jareth, still on his knees, hand covering the wound in his chest. _So close_, Sarah thought. It had been so close to his heart. _Just like Jake..._

The agony on Jareth's face mirrored her own...except for the strange, golden gleam in his eyes. When he realized she was looking at him, he smiled. And, though his ashen features were drawn tight with pain, she recognized that smile.

She didn't know how to _wish_ her way out of this one, though. If it had been that easy, the dwarves would have already been reduced to piles of slag. Obviously, magic was the answer because there was no way either Sarah or Jareth were going to beat the sturdy men physically. But what—?

_"...I was simply acting as a channel for your own desires...Without you, I am simply a man who will live a very long time..."_

In a flash, she saw Jareth hunched in the corner of a sterile room, surrounded by writhing words, and the feral gleam in his painfully _normal_ gaze.

_"Her power over his powers..."_

She took a risk, knowing she would certainly die if she was wrong. Almost hoped she was because being _right_ would be infinitely worse.

"Save me! Right _now_, Jareth!"

* * *

**Chapter Title:** _So now you could spend the morning walking with me, quite amazed / As I'm unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed._ "Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed," David Bowie


	22. The Nightmares Came Today

The Nightmares Came Today

She was pain.

A booted foot slammed into her jaw. Her teeth snapped down on her tongue. Blood exploded in her mouth, nearly drowned the words she shouted to Jareth. She would have cried out at this new torment if her throat hadn't already been excoriated by sheer terror. The dusty path of the trail scoured her skin like coarse sandpaper. Strong, unrelenting fingers dug cruelly into her legs. The creatures not dragging her wrestled her onto her back again. They kept her caged between them, occasionally kicking her sharply in the ribs when she fought too hard.

The air darkened. Cloying malevolence scraped down Sarah's raw throat, hot and metallic, filling her nose and mouth. She coughed, gagged. Forgot about the stench as her head ricocheted from a thick, twisted root. Colorful points of light burst across her vision, her entire body went limp, and she gaped blankly at the fluttering rags in the branches overhead.

_The Clootie Well..._

That cold apprehension touched the nape of her neck again; she could feel it even through the fear and the pain. Fingers, bloody and numb, clutched wildly for purchase—a branch, a root, a well-tethered plant, _anything_ to stop her forward movement. The immediacy of danger and the eruption of panic muted the things that made her human; morality, spirituality, and intellect were overridden by an instinctual need to survive. She didn't care who she hurt, she didn't pray for salvation, didn't plan a clever escape. She was a frenzied animal trying to stay alive long enough to crawl away and nurse her wounds...

She was desperation.

A soot-black heel crushed her frenetically grasping hand. If the bones broke, she didn't feel it. She lashed out toward the offender, snarled with rage when she missed. She renewed her struggles—

—paused in surprise when one of her legs slipped free.

Putting all her energy into a brutal kick, she aimed for the grinning face of one of her captors. Her foot caught him in the temple, making his head snap back at an awkward angle on his neck. The force of the impact sent a fresh jolt of pain through her, but the dwarf's grip loosened enough for her to yank her other leg away. With a hoarse wheeze of triumph, Sarah scrambled to her hands and knees. Pushed to her feet. Wavered uncertainly as the forest teetered alarmingly.

She blinked rapidly. Did she have a concussion? Had she killed that dwarf?

Stubby fingers grappling to seize her quickly righted her vision, made the answers to those questions insignificant. Another snarl curled through her lips. She was elbowing her way through the ring of stocky men...

She was victory.

A broad shoulder barreled into her. A gnarled root caught her in the midsection. She tumbled forward, air gasping from her lungs like a landed fish.

Too late, she realized she'd been running in the wrong direction.

The plunge into the pool brought no relief to her tired and beaten body. So cold it burned, the water at the base of the tree parted like thick cream before closing over her head. Her legs immediately fought to get her back to the surface, toward precious air and healing light, but it was like moving through mud. She opened her eyes and the water seared icily over the thin, clear tissue, lanced straight through and stabbed excruciatingly into her brain. A scream tried valiantly to pour from her mouth, but the caustic substance around her melted the sound before it formed. It was like acid, eating through flesh to the bone...

She was agony.

A prickle along her spine was all the warning she had. Strong fingers grabbed her arm. Hope, that ever foolish emotion, sparked in her chest, buoyant and wonderful, before it was crushed by the almighty fist of despair. Because she wasn't being rescued. She was being pulled _down_, deeper into the pool, farther from safety.

Closer to Hell.

Her ears popped as the pressure around her suddenly changed. She curled into a miserable ball on unforgiving earth, clutched her arms around her ribs to keep herself from shaking apart. She attempted to blink away the frost coating her eyes. A fresh wave of panic surged through her when she found she couldn't see anything. For a brief, hysterical moment, she thought she'd gone blind.

Then the darkness was broken by obscenely sharp grins stretched widely under macabre incandescent gazes.

She didn't fight when they grabbed her again. Her mind shouted for her to kick, punch, _claw_ her way out of this nightmare. Her battered body only wanted to not _hurt_ anymore. And resistance, it knew, only meant more pain. When they dumped her, she slid down a steep incline for an eternity before crashing into solid ground.

She didn't move from where she landed, even though she knew she should look around, find her means of escape. Sooner rather than later. She just needed a bit of time to recover. A moment to catch her breath, to thaw the fear congealing in her stomach, to contain the terrified animal roaring through her mind and preventing her from _thinking_ clearly. She hunkered against the cold wall—_just for a _minute_,_ she told the raging voice insisting she _couldn't_ _give up_—and closed her eyes.

A soft flare of gold touched the backs of her eyelids, gentle warmth caressed her face. The icy remnants from the pool melted from her lashes, the edges of her clothes. Sarah pulled in a breath, caught the scent of warm spring days and cool summer nights, and opened her eyes.

In the wavering light, he looked as beaten as she felt.

"You let them take me."

Jareth's mouth pulled into a chagrined line. "I had no choice, Sarah." He glanced behind him, as though looking at something else. "It's incredibly hard to pull an arrow out of yourself." When he turned back to her, he looked a little embarrassed. "I believe I passed out."

Guilt twinged through Sarah's stomach and she blew out a breath. She hadn't meant to accuse him—it wasn't really his fault, after all. But if there was ever a time for Jareth to prove he could be her knight in shining armor, now was it.

Although, she wasn't exactly keen on sitting here and _waiting_.

"How do I get out of this?" she asked. "Could I draw another door?"

"You could. I doubt it would work. It's unlikely they've left anything useful in this hole," he said, looking around. "And it'll be pitch black again when you wake up. You won't be able to see well enough."

But _he_ could—

"You'd have to be conscious, Sarah," he said, shaking his head as though _she_ was the one not thinking straight. "I can only be with you in your..."

—and he always had this uncanny ability of knowing what her corporeal self was doing while she was sleeping. Given her tendency toward somnambulism, it wasn't too far-fetched to think he could guide her from within a dream.

Jareth's mouth quirked with approval. He draped an arm around Sarah's shoulders and she felt his chuckle vibrate warmly against her. "Oh, you clever girl," he murmured into her hair.

Even if it wasn't meant to, the gesture gave her some small measure of comfort, reassured her that she would make it through this; maybe not completely untouched, but definitely intact. She sank into his side and closed her eyes again, content to curl into his familiar solidity and breathe in his smooth scent. "Why is it easier between us, like this?" The question was muffled in his shoulder.

Jareth shrugged. "I'm not exactly the same person in your dreams." He tilted his chin thoughtfully. "Or, perhaps, _you_ aren't the same."

"So many riddles," she sighed.

She didn't know how, but she could feel the smile hitch up the corners of his mouth. "They keep you curious," he teased. She pulled back, a frown on her lips and an admonishment on her tongue. But darkness bloomed in Jareth's eyes and whatever thought he'd had made his expression somber. "They keep you with me," he added, softly.

Something terrible slid through his words, an ache Sarah was intimately familiar with; the pain of a wound not fully healed. The intensity of it gave his eyes a silver sheen in the dim light. Sarah stared at him, fascinated and uneasy all at the same time. Because what could make the Goblin King look so..._haunted_?

"I have to find something to make a door with," she said, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. "Don't wake up before I come back."

"Not likely, princess." The words held a sarcastic edge. But his smile seemed a little sad as he leaned forward to press a shimmering kiss against each eyelid.

Consciousness brought trembling muscles, throbbing bruises, and the white-hot sting of open wounds peppering her skin. Sarah gritted her teeth and stiffly began searching her prison. A wail of pure suffering echoed from somewhere above her. It was the promise of what her own future held if she couldn't find a way out. She kept hysteria at bay with reminders that she'd escaped from...slightly similar...situations. This wouldn't be any different. She was the plucky heroine who managed to find her way through the impossible. She was the tenacious human who never gave in. She was...

She was exhausted and terrified, neither of which made her feel particularly tenacious or plucky. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry her eyes out, she wanted to be back in her comfy bed, to pick up the phone and talk to her dad or stepmother. She wanted to listen to Toby excitedly explain the awesomeness of his newest video game. She wanted to go to sleep and find a pleasant Goblin King waiting in her dreams.

_If wishes were horses...I'd have ridden out of this nightmare weeks ago..._

She wondered if this was how Jareth had survived during his confinement, by keeping his mind—what had been left of it, anyway—busy with all the things he would do if he was ever freed.

The hole seemed to be a perfect circle, like someone had taken a cookie cutter to the earth. It was about ten paces across, the walls were steep and, like the floor, completely smooth. Everything was made from hard rock; she couldn't even scratch the surface with her nails. Despite not finding anything on her initial exploration, Sarah meticulously searched the pit twice more, running her hands blindly over every inch of ground and wall she could reach, before giving up. She rested her head on her knees and tried to think. Her backpack was somewhere in the woods, presumably still laying where she'd dropped it when Jareth had hauled her from the path, and her pockets were empty.

Her fingers closed around the knife at her belt. Hope tentatively kindled as she flipped the blade out—her nails may not have been sharp enough to disfigure the stone around her, but _surely_ her knife was. She scored lines into the wall slowly, using the finger on her other hand to make sure the blade stayed in the same place. When she ran her fingers over the surface it was...still smooth.

She wanted to throw the knife across the hole, throw a fit, shout about the unfairness of this whole damn thing. Instead, she took a deep breath and slid the knife into the top of her right boot. It may not cut stone but if she had the chance, she was going to find out if it cut the throats of those hellish dwarves.

With this grim resolution, Sarah took a quick physical inventory. She flexed the fingers of her right hand—the one that had been viciously stomped on—then moved the rest of her limbs slowly, making sure nothing was broken. She ran her tongue over her teeth, relieved to find none of them missing. The left side of her face was tender and swollen, and her tongue still bled sluggishly. She leaned to the side to spit out the coppery fluid.

And an idea sparked.

She squeezed her tongue between her teeth to keep the blood flowing, ignoring the pain—she'd re-open every scrape and gash if it meant not dying in this stinking hole.

In her excitement, she almost couldn't fall asleep again. When she eventually did, she found Jareth idly sitting next to her, an arm propped on a bent knee, his head canted back and resting on the wall. He was the picture of relaxed indifference. The harsh lines of pain had disappeared from around his mouth and he had regained a bit of color. There was even a hint of sparkle touching his skin. Just seeing him _look_ better made Sarah feel better about the situation.

He glanced at her without surprise. "What have you found?" he asked. She told him and disgust curled his lip. "You're kidding."

"There's nothing else."

"A perfectly repulsive solution." With a sigh, though, he rose to his feet, absently offered his hand to help her up as well. "Let's see if it works."

_Oh, it will _work_,_ Sarah thought. Because if it didn't...She pushed away all thoughts about failure and what it would mean, and determinedly concentrated on her task. She faced the wall behind her and swiped a finger over her tongue. Before she could reach out, though, Jareth placed his hands on her shoulders and angled her slightly away from the stone.

"How do you manage to get so turned around in your sleep?"

She ignored the way his question fanned gently over her ear. His long fingers curled around her hand and he slowly guided her—hopefully bloody—finger.

When the door was finished, he didn't immediately pull away. And Sarah couldn't stop from leaning into him when she felt his mouth hovering over the delicate skin of her neck. Their joined hands had lit up like a golden beacon while she'd been drawing, the sensation of their skin touching had shivered through her entire body. The magical glow created by their physical connection lingered as white-gold swirling up to her elbow.

"Will you answer a question before I go?" she asked, softly.

"Are you sure you'll want the answer?" was his reply.

If he was going to give it to her directly and not in a round about manner, then yes. "Do you—the you that's still in the forest—do you remember what happens between us in these dreams?"

A breath of silence. Then, "I remember...very little," he finally said. "A fragment of conversation, flashes of images. Part of my curse is to never have dreams of my own. This is a loophole, you allowing me to enter yours, but I can't carry them with me into the waking world."

He placed his hands on her shoulders again, finally let his mouth brush over her skin. That electric spark arced between them. Sarah turned in his arms, pressed as far into him as she could. Gods, if just _touching_ him was like this, what would it be like if they—

"The extraordinary thing about dreams is, for mortals and immortals alike, we are free to be and feel what we wish within them. Awake, I don't have that luxury."

"Because you don't have your magic?"

"Partly," he said. "But also because I don't have you." Sarah frowned, opened her mouth to ask what that meant—she was with him, wasn't she? Or would be if she could ever get out of this pit—but he spoke over her. "There are too many questions and not enough time, Sarah. Try asking again when we're together." He paused and she felt his grip loosen—_lighten_. He wiped a thumb over her eyelids. "Don't be too disappointed if this doesn't work the same as last time," was his parting warning to her. "I'm coming."

It took her a moment to orientate herself, but when she did her heart leaped at the smooth knob under her fingers, nearly burst with relief as the door pulled open.

Fell when she found nothing but more darkness. She put her hand out, but there was only air on the other side. It could lead...anywhere. And there was the distinct possibility anywhere was ten times worse than _here_.

She pounded a fist against the wall. Considered slumping to the floor in defeat and giving into the tears pricking hotly at the corners of her eyes.

Eerie orange-yellow light swept through the pit. Sarah looked up to find one of her kidnappers peering down at her. His gaze fell on the door she stood in front of and a low growl reverberated in his throat. Fear trickled down her spine, slid through her veins. She wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but the ice in her stomach assured her it would be horrible.

The next moments were a blur—and she was perfectly okay keeping them that way. She threw herself into the darkness before her...stumbled out into a large cavern dotted sporadically with hissing torches. The optimistic part of her cheered that she wasn't in total darkness anymore.

The pessimist quickly noted the group of dwarves turning around to look at her.

She immediately tried to run. When she was tackled to the ground, she yanked the knife from her boot and, with a feral scream, stopped thinking. She didn't really believe she had any hope of winning; she wasn't a fighter, her few judo lessons aside, and she certainly wasn't an expert with a blade. She did, however, have one thing in her favor—the burn of frantic terror.

Her world narrowed to the small men before her. She'd kill every last one of them if she had to. The wild animal unleashed itself within her, took over, howled with pleasure. She bared her teeth in a savage grin of her own.

She was vengeance.

One by one, the dwarves' gazes flickered out. There was a flurry of activity around her, muted grunts, dull thuds. A sickeningly wet _crack_. Sarah knew her blade had struck true more than once; she could feel sticky warmth spattering on her hands.

A hand on her back made her whirl around, blade slashing low. Her wrist was caught in a steely grip. She struggled, kicked with one leg, swung with her free arm.

"Sarah."

The snarl of rage died in her throat. She looked up at Jareth. Blinked the wild fury from her eyes. Her gaze dropped down to her knife. The darkly gleaming point had stopped mere inches from a rather...delicate...part of the Goblin King. A droll smile touched Sarah's lips as she looked at him again. And she wanted to say something clever.

But the adrenaline rushed out of her. She felt the blood drain from her face. Felt her limbs start to tremble uncontrollably. Her eyes felt like they were too wide, her lungs couldn't seem to pull in enough air. White sprinkled the corners of her vision.

She was going to faint.

"_Sarah_." Jareth pushed her knife to the side and hauled her up as her knees buckled. Pulled her against him and smacked her cheek. "You're no good to me unconscious."

Her eyes narrowed. Of course he'd make this about _him_. "Arrogant bastard," she rasped.

The glow building between them made his grin look sinister. "Make a wish, Sarah," he said. And he placed his hand over the medallion around her neck.

"I wish we were out of this hellhole."

"More specific."

"I wish we were in the Labyrinth."

A pause, lightly flavored with astonishment. "As much as _I_ wish that would work, it's not going to," Jareth said, softly. "Quickly, more will come soon."

She looked around. Small bodies were scattered around them. No way _she_ had done that...

"I wish the Goblin King and I were back in that stupid forest, on that stupid path...somewhere near where I dropped my backpack, preferably," she added. "And I wish for a warm fire when I get there, with a soft bed, and lots to eat. And for a flash flood to come through here and kill all these little fuckers."

Amusement lit up Jareth's eyes. "So mature, princess," he murmured.

He pushed against the amulet. Sarah closed her eyes, already able to feel the warm fire where they'd make camp and thinking maybe she could wish into existence a hot bath...with bubbles.

When several seconds went by and nothing happened, Sarah opened her eyes again. "Um...I know I'm not exactly an expert on the mechanics of magic, but something's supposed to happen, right?"

Jareth glared at her. "It's not working the way it ought," he growled.

Sarah didn't think about it—because she'd find a way to talk herself out of it if she did—she simply grabbed Jareth's hand and shoved it underneath her shirt. She pressed his palm flat against the amulet, holding her breath so it wouldn't give away exactly how she felt about having his bare skin against hers _there_. Although, she was sure he could feel it in the way her heart pounded excitedly under his fingers.

Jareth went rigidly still, a sharp puff of surprise tickled her cheek.

"Better?" Sarah asked, keeping her voice coolly detached.

It took another beat for him to compose himself, but a mischievous grin eventually spread over his face. "Yes," he purred. "That will do quite nicely."

Her skin tingled as the warm tips of his fingers curled and lightly caressed the top of her breast. She was covered in...gods only knew what...was tired and didn't feel the slightest bit sexy. But goddammitall if Jareth didn't make her feel like wiggling her hips just to see what would come of it.

"You may want to close your eyes."

She sucked in a breath to ask why—took his advice when everything around them _shifted_ like it had been caught in a blender. Even without seeing it, the sensation of moving between one space and another was disorienting. Her stomach twisted up toward her mouth, her head felt like it was starting to detach itself from her body. She grabbed the front of Jareth's shirt and held on for dear life.

When the world stabilized, she stumbled away and promptly tried to empty her stomach onto the forest floor. It had been a long time since breakfast, though, so it was mostly blood and bile. She winced as she heard Jareth walk up beside her, wiped away the tears at the corners of her eyes when she felt his hand on her back. It was such a caring, soothing gesture, she almost laughed despite herself.

"Will you be okay alone for a moment?" he asked.

Was that concern? Surely not.

Sarah straightened, shoved her hair back from her face and spat. "Yes," she muttered. It would give her a minute to recover from the embarrassment of trying to puke her guts out in front of him.

She wrapped her arms around her ribs when he disappeared into the forest. They had...landed?...exactly where she'd wished, not far from the Clootie Well. The cool wind still held an ominous taint. Goosebumps sprang up on her arms and an icy prickle touched the nape of her neck. And every rustling leaf made her jump in fear.

When Jareth returned, it was with her backpack slung over one shoulder. She nearly hugged him (whether from finding her belongings or simply coming back, she wasn't sure), but settled for fervently thanking him, which, she noticed, made him preen. He suggested they get away from the area; she didn't argue, though she did take the time to swirl some toothpaste around in her mouth before following him.

She was trembling with exhaustion by the time they stopped. Jareth attempted to make a fire—could have set the entire wood ablaze with the look he shot Sarah when she offhandedly mentioned how easily Grosvenor had accomplished the same task. When Jareth finally managed to coax a flame into existence, Sarah grinned and sat down next to him.

"Now if you could just find me a nice hotel room, you'd be my hero," she sighed.

"I think saving your life trumps that," he said.

Sarah rubbed her hands together and nodded, unsure of how she felt about his heroism. Would it be something he'd hold against her? Or had it been a truly benevolent act? "Why couldn't you have done that when we were trapped by the Queen?" she asked.

"Because you didn't want it enough," Jareth told her. There was a note of irritation in his voice, as though he was tired of repeating himself. "The urgency of your desires is directly proportional to what I'm able to do."

"You're telling me that I control your magic?"

"Not exactly." Sarah narrowed a glance toward him at the cryptic reply. Jareth's smile hitched up a fraction. "Patience, princess. It's difficult to know where to start."

"The beginning," she suggested. Isn't that where all stories started?

"Ah, but your beginning or mine?"

"There's a difference?"

"Yes," Jareth said. "And there are some thing you can't know." Seeing her suspicious look, he laughed. "Not until later, anyway." He rested his chin in his palm and stared into the fire. And his voice sounded as absent as his gaze. "You can't _control_ my magic, even if I had it. For one, you're not strong enough or skilled enough. One day, maybe..." He shook himself, slightly, then sat up, letting his hands hang loosely between his knees. "Since you have no practice at these things, I can act as a channel. Your desire to leave the cell was not as great as it was to leave the caverns, so there was nothing _I_ could do about the former."

"So...it's kind of like I _share_ magic with you?"

"No, your magic is your own, as is mine," Jareth said, with a shake of his head. "I merely give yours direction."

"More specific." That's what he'd said when she'd made a general wish to be out of the cavern.

"Exactly."

"And that's how you were able to come after me and...transport...us out?"

"That's a bit more complicated." He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes when she stifled a yawn behind one hand. "And can wait until morning. You should rest."

She immediately wanted to protest, to accuse him of avoiding giving her the answers she wanted. But she was so tired and the fire was so warm. And Jareth's voice was full of lilting comfort. She was hard-pressed to keep her eyes open. She pulled her foil blanket from her pack and wrapped it around her shoulders, wondering how her wish for a bed had been overlooked. She was loathe to leave Jareth's side—the reason for which she couldn't quite pinpoint—but couldn't think of any excuse to stay. He'd been very careful to keep his distance from her since they'd set up camp. And he was staring into the fire again, seemingly ignoring her.

"Is your shoulder okay?" she asked.

"Is that concern?"

She shouldn't have really been surprised by the bland response, but it sent a twinge of discomfort through her heart. "Why do you always answer a question with a question?" she growled. One side of his mouth twitched and she found it impossible to keep the annoyance from her voice. "And, yes, if you must know, that is concern."

He cocked his head to study her, then leaned forward. "Are you saying you _care_, Sarah?" he asked. "For me?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Of course I care," she snapped. Not as vehemently as she would have liked, though. "You think I would have let myself get dragged through Hell and back trying to _find_ you if I didn't care?"

His smile remained fixed on his face, but something that might have been surprise flickered through his gaze, as though he'd never thought of it that way. As though he'd never guess someone's motives for helping him could be completely altruistic. Sarah shook her head, stood and relocated herself to the other side of the fire.

When the dreams came, they were full of darkness, grasping fingers, and sharp grins.

* * *

_"Of course I care..."_

He stared across the fire. She was little more than a darkly reflective lump. Every once in awhile a low sound came from her and a leg or arm would thrash against thin air. He thought, maybe, if he went to sleep as well, he could ease her dreams.

But her words, those breathy utterances she'd learned so well this time around not to use frivolously, had confounded him. He would have suspected her of doing it intentionally, throwing him off-kilter with what she said. As clever as she was, though, he didn't believe Sarah Williams had a hidden agenda when it came to him.

_"Of course I care..."_

He raised a hand to his shoulder. Grimaced when his fingers came away bloody. He'd been very careful not to let her see how much pain he was in; as much as he thought he might a like a doting Sarah, he had been more concerned with getting them away from the Clootie Well...on making sure she wasn't going to fall apart on him when he needed her the most.

A short cry pierced the air. He stood up too fast, clenched his teeth around the agony in his shoulder and back, then moved swiftly to her side. She was shaking, holding her knees close to her chest. The fire touched off the light sheen of sweat on her brow, reflected from wide, terrified eyes.

"Sarah?"

She didn't look at him. "The darkness," she whispered hoarsely. "It comes when I close my eyes and it tries to..." She choked off and drew in a shuddering breath. Rubbed her face with her hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

He hesitated, wanting to comfort her, knowing he _couldn't_. His teeth clenched together again so hard it made his jaw ache as he stood to leave her side.

"Stay with me for a little bit?"

He would have missed the request if she hadn't reached up to grasp his hand.

"For as long as you wish, Sarah."

"No funny business, though."

He smiled faintly at the note of warning in her voice, knowing it meant she was that much closer to being back to normal. "No," he agreed. "No funny business."

He carefully eased down next to her. Every muscle in his body tightened against the urge to pull her against him, to bury his face in her neck, breathe her in and mold all those delicious curves to him.

When she fell asleep again, he tried to ignore the weight of her head on his shoulder. When she started awake a short while later, though, he couldn't stop himself from doing _something_.

"You're okay, Sarah," he said, framing her face with his hands. He ignored the almost painful tingle soaking into his skin until her gaze cleared.

This was the hardest part, he thought. Next to this, receiving the Fool's maddening Touch had been a piece of cake. Keeping his distance from Sarah, though, resisted the urge to touch her, kiss her, from letting the depths of his heart slip out when he spoke to her, was pure torture. It had been easier in the beginning, when he'd seen her in that hospital room. Easier to remain aloof, easier to say the things he needed in order to get her down the right path. Because he hadn't been certain he was in the right time, hadn't been certain she was the right one.

Now, though, seeing her bruised and battered, the wild fear in her eyes...

"Six," she whispered. When he looked curiously at her, she said, "There were only six." A hysterical chuckle tinged her words. "There are supposed to be seven."

Jareth smiled. "The seventh decided to leave his band of nefarious brothers and relocate," he told her. "I hear he's quite good at coming up with fairy pesticides. The one he uses is his own special concoction, you know."

Sarah's eyes widened. "_No_," she breathed in disbelief.

"He wasn't originally part of the labyrinth," Jareth said. "It made him into what he needed to be...or wanted to be, perhaps."

He could feel the weight of her gaze, knew what question she would ask before it passed through her lips. "Does it do that to everyone?" He nodded. "Did it do that to you?"

He laughed, the sound full of that genuine humor she sometimes surprised out of him. "Oh, no. I've always been an insufferable git."

She fell asleep again shortly after that, curled into his side. He wanted to kiss her, drown in her, but settled for simply feeling the spark of connection between them. She would warn him against such forward actions in another time, another place. She would tell him, in another future, to tread lightly, to not give her past-self all the details at once. It could be too much, too confusing, and could, ultimately, lead them down the same bleak road.

_"You can't say anything about your own feelings,"_ she'd say. _"If you want me to love you again, you _must _let it be my decision. You can't trick, force, or wheedle me into it."_

She would see the flash of rebellion—he found it hard to keep his emotions from his eyes, and she would become adept at interpreting the minute variations in his expressions. A light flush would kiss her cheeks, a soft, wistful smile would curl her lips. _"I hope my stubborn ass _does _fall for you all over again,"_ she would whisper. _"I'm the luckiest woman in the world to have caught you."_

She'd run her fingers lovingly over the angles of his face and he'd close his eyes against the intense flare of desire and affection. He couldn't remember exactly _when_ he'd found her and fallen so deeply, but no matter what future he eventually wound up in, the swell of emotion never changed. If anything, it only became more acute, burned hotter with each new her he found.

Because she was subtly different each time. The Sarah Williams with him at this moment was the closest he'd come to the first version he'd met; fiercely determined, wildly brilliant. And still wonderfully stubborn.

He closed his eyes and tried to relax, a task he found hard to accomplish with her soft warmth tucked so trustingly against him. She made a content sound, reached up to curl her fingers loosely in his shirt. He tried to push away the pain. She'd broken his heart, over and over, and might continue to do so without even realizing it.

"The last time you broke my heart was when you broke out of the crystal dream," he murmured into her hair. She shifted and he waited until she settled again. He would never be able to make these confessions whilst she was awake—had promised he wouldn't. "The second time was when you married that man."

"Don't be jealous of Jake," Sarah whispered.

Jareth's entire body went rigid. He pulled back a little and looked down at her. Her eyes were still closed, but a wisp of a smile touched her lips.

"I thought you were asleep."

The achromic light of early morning turned her eyes a rich shade of olive. "How could Jake have come before the crystal dream?"

"Because the first time I saw you was many years from now," he told her. "Somewhere between then and when you ran the labyrinth, you married. I move through time differently than everyone else," he reminded her. "So my past, present, and future are..."

"Muddled."

"If you like."

"Wouldn't that mean...if you met me for the first time in the future, you shouldn't know who I am now?"

"For anyone else, yes," he said. "But I've come from _then_, following a thread of possibility in the hope that you and I can create a different future."

He could practically hear her mind turning over his words. When she opened her mouth to speak, though, she didn't say what he expected.

"What was I like?" she asked. "In that other future?"

Jareth smiled and closed his eyes, the better to see her. "Fierce," he said, softly. "And wild. Savagely beautiful. Like a force of nature that couldn't be contained."

Close to how she'd been when fighting the dwarves. When he'd arrived in the caverns, he'd hesitated for almost too long, watching in awe tinged with hope as she had snarled and raged. Then one of the dark dwellers had grabbed her. And he'd killed every last one of them for even _thinking_ about harming her.

"Why was I like that?"

"Because you were trying to protect those you loved," he said. "When Toby was killed—"

Sarah's sharp inhalation cut him off. "Toby was _killed_?" she whispered, horror lacing her tone.

Jareth nodded and tightened his arms around her. He wasn't sure when he'd begun holding her, but she wasn't complaining about it and he wasn't going to stop unless she told him to. "Yes," he said. "When he passed, you became...inconsolable. There was nothing I could do to stop you." He paused to swallow the terrible emotion crawling up from his chest. "I lost you that time."

"I died, too?"

"Yes," and, with the answer, Jareth expelled a painful breath. He still _ached_ with the memory of seeing her fall. He still felt as though he couldn't breathe as he remembered watching the light in her eyes flicker and fade. And, he'd promised himself, _this_ time he'd protect her. No matter the cost. The tale may not have been about her, but she was the key to the happy ending.

To _his_ happy ending.

"I've searched for longer than you can imagine, trying to find the right _time_," he said. "I've gone through all the possibilities and this is the only one I've found that will keep everyone you care for alive. We argue about it, in more than one future, but there will be no other way."

"Are you saying..."

She pulled back slightly, looked a little disappointed when she didn't find what she was searching for on his face. He wanted to smile, to tell her one day she'd know him almost better than he knew himself.

"Are you saying you _knew_ this would happen?" she asked. "That you knew you'd be taken prisoner, lose your mind, and you just...let it?"

"What choice did I have?" he asked, his eyes sliding away from her. "If I hadn't, you would never—"

He cut himself off, his lips pressing into a thin line. _"No spoilers,"_ she would be fond of saying, then laugh as though it was a joke.

"I was smart enough to realize I must give up that which I could not keep to gain that which I could not lose," he finally said.

"Riddles."

Jareth sighed. "It means, dear one, I had to let you leave in order for you to come back," he said.

"What about what you said at the end?"

Those selfish words? Those things he hadn't been able to keep from her because, at that precise moment, he didn't think he could bear to be apart from her again? He smiled teasingly, a reflexive action to keep the emotion from his face. "What else would goad a headstrong girl into finishing what she started?"

"So none of it was true?" she asked.

A faintly gloomy note laced her tone. Jareth's heart skipped a beat and he wondered if he dared hope...

_Oh, it was very true, love._

She yawned and he pulled her a little closer. "Get some sleep, Sarah. We'll talk about it more in the morning," he murmured. Though he had no intention of doing anything of the sort.

He watched the fire slowly die as she slumbered lightly in his arms. There was the possibility, he knew, that she _wouldn't_ end up loving him this time around. But it was a risk he was willing to take. He'd sacrifice his own wants and needs—his very _life—_if it meant keeping her and those she held dear safe and happy.

* * *

**A/N:** Does the time thing make sense so far? Just think of it as "a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey..._stuff_." (And you—yes, _you_, the one who knows where that quote comes from—you get cookies.) Thanks to everyone adding this to their favs! I hope you continue to enjoy!

**Chapter Title:** _Wake up you sleepy head / Put on some clothes, shake up your bed / Put another log on the fire for me / I've made breakfast and coffee / Look out my window what do I see / A crack in the sky and a hand reaching down to me / All the nightmares came today / And it looks as though they're here to stay._ "Oh You Pretty Things," David Bowie


	23. Come Near, Come Near, Come Near

Come Near, Come Near, Come Near

"You're kidding."

The arch of one pale eyebrow gave her the answer before Jareth even opened his mouth. "You wish to be clean," he reminded her.

Well, yeah...but she'd been hoping for a bit of magic, maybe a Jacuzzi tucked between the trees complete with large, fluffy towels. Or a shower, the kind with the multiple water jets all over. Barring that, she'd settle for a regular old bathtub, as long as it was full of water hot enough to sear every last bit of Underground nasty off her skin.

Instead, she got..._this_. At first, she thought it was Jareth's idea of a joke. _Ha, ha, Goblin King, you got me. Seriously, where's that hot tub?_

Although, she thought she'd seen a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Or that could have just been the sun glaring from the water. Sarah eyed the stream with a frown. It burbled happily along its course, couldn't have been more than ankle deep in the middle—she'd be lucky to get the dirt off her knees—and, despite the heat of the day, looked teeth-chatteringly frigid rather than refreshingly cool.

True, she was tired of feeling sticky with sweat, wanted desperately to wash away the grime accumulating in the worse places, but...

But being a modern-sort of woman grown used to certain conveniences, she was more than a little miffed that, in an entire _world_ full of magical..._stuff_...she'd only had a proper bath once.

_Or toilet, for that matter..._

Really, though, she had no illusions about the glamor of camping. With a resigned sigh, Sarah dropped her pack onto the sandy bank, then sat down to unlace her boots. If this was the only way she was going to get clean, she supposed she'd have to take it.

Reluctantly.

"Where are you going?"

Jareth turned to face her and gestured down the stream. "Around the bend," he told her. "So you may have some privacy." He paused. Sarah's heart skipped a beat as an insidious smile flirted with the corners of his lips. His eyes darkened noticeably. "Unless you'd like me to stay and...keep watch."

Her cheeks caught fire even as she scowled. "I'll be fine," she said, firmly.

The smile blossomed into a low chuckle as he nodded and turned away again. "Should you need anything..."

_"Should you need us..."_

_"Yes, should you need us..."_

"I'll call."

Nostalgia cloistered the air as Sarah watched Jareth disappear around the curve of the stream. She hadn't ask him about her friends again since—had it only been a few days ago? Her hand paused as she tucked her socks into her hiking boots and, for a moment, she just watched the water gurgle past. It felt like she'd been here months, not mere weeks, the days crammed with so many events, her emotions running the gambit from calm assurance that this was going to be easy to the sheer visceral terror that she could quite possibly die here.

_So dramatic._

Was she, though? The dwarves had presented a very real threat. And the Queen could have chosen to simply kill her outright while she'd been unconscious. She felt cold thinking about the unknown, but most assuredly malevolent, ruler being so close while Sarah had been unable to defend herself.

Shaking the thoughts away, Sarah pulled a cleaner pair of jeans and tank top from her backpack. A small, lavender colored satchel came out with her clothes, falling onto the sand next to her feet. She eyed it warily despite—or maybe because of—its benign appearance. Curiosity soon won out over caution. She carefully pulled the gold ties apart and peered inside.

It was quite possibly, Sarah thought, the best surprise she could have received at this exact moment. She wasn't sure who had put it in her pack—maybe Kira, although Sarah's bet was on one of the nosy Podlings—but she couldn't have been more grateful for the satchel of lightly scented soap flakes.

Sarah gasped as she splashed into the cold water. It was deeper than it had looked from shore, coming up to her hips instead of her ankles. Pressing her lips tightly together around the urge to scream, she tried thinking about something besides about absolutely _frigid_ her bath was.

Like, how she'd woken up after their conversation about the future to find Jareth laying across the fire from her. It was as though he'd never comforted her after the nightmares, as though he'd never held her and talked to her in that hushed voice full of pain and sorrow during the magical transition between night and day. And Sarah began to wonder if it hadn't all been a dream.

It had been two days since then. Two days, and he hadn't said a single word to her about it again. If she tried to ask, he ignored her, changed the subject—he'd even gone so far as simply standing up and walking away. Sarah had narrowed her eyes at his retreating back, stomping down on the urge to throw a charred log at his head.

That Jareth was keen on keeping his own council hardly surprised her. That he wouldn't tell her about things clearly involving _her_...well, that was annoying. And troublesome. Because if he wouldn't tell her what she should be doing, what her _role_ in this whole mess was, how was she supposed to know if what she _was_ doing was right? He'd said she was the protagonist, that she was here to put an heir in a usurper's place. An heir she knew...

_"_Think _about it, Sarah...Who's it _always _been about?"_

Sarah's fingers stilled in her soapy hair. Her eyes stared at the line of trees on the far shore without seeing them. The sun beat warmly down on her shoulders, the stream tickled its way around her kneeling figure. Birds chirped merrily and insects droned a languid song. But Sarah didn't notice any of it as a name flashed with silvery quickness through her mind.

"No, _way_," she whispered.

Rinsing her hair quickly, she scrambled out of the water, patted dry with a towel she'd filched from the twin sisters' tower bathroom, then hurriedly pulled on her clothes. She didn't bother with her boots, just scooped them up along with her backpack as she quickly made her way around the bend where Jareth had gone. She'd tie him down and _force_ him to answer her questions if she had to; questions like where were they going? What were they going to do once they got there? What, _exactly_, was her role in all of this? And was this heir really her—?

Sarah's brain stuttered to a halt at the same time as her feet. The trickling stream had widened, deepened, the dark surface twinkling with cool secrets in the midday light as it rolled lazily along. Important inquiries, posed on her tongue and eager to fire, dissolved as she watched Jareth swim to shore. And she couldn't even find it in herself to mad at him for giving her only waist-high water to bathe in. A hot flush climbed her throat, but she didn't close her eyes. Oh, no. He had an almost overwhelmingly arresting mein when _clothed_, but now...And it had nothing to do with something as mundane as nudity. His propensity to shimmer mixed with water droplets and sunlight turned the Goblin King into a blaze of smooth skin covering sleek muscle. Every stride held feline grace. Subtle power flexed through those long limbs. He was impossibly beautiful, an embodiment of perfection that couldn't truly exist.

Sarah's boots fell onto the bank with a soft _thunk_. It was unlikely he hadn't heard the sound, but he examined his clothing with the air of someone entirely displeased, and seemed completely unaware of her presence.

"I assume you like what you see, now?"

Sarah licked her lips and, refusing to rise to the bait, averted her eyes. She took a deep, steadying breath, uncurled her fingers from her palms. Over the swift beat of her heart, she could hear Jareth rustling around; hopefully putting his damn clothes on. Seeing him naked hadn't unnerved her. The step forward she'd taken, a movement made while her brain floundered with sensory input...that was cause for some amount of disconcertment. She'd have to be _dead_ to not find Jareth physically attractive in a way that made her feel a bit like a swooning damsel in a romance novel, but a part of her was wary; maybe of him, maybe of something else altogether. There was no guarantee "Goblin King" and "committed relationship" were synonymous. Falling in love was all well and good, but her heart was still bruised around the edges and, while she didn't think he'd be the one to break it, she wasn't sure it could survive any more tragic endings.

Besides, physical attraction didn't amount to squat if she didn't like everything else.

_Which you do, of course...to a certain extent..._

She could feel the heat of Jareth's gaze without looking at him, a warmth gently brushing over her skin that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. He was waiting for an answer. She squinted at the water, wondering how to reply without outright lying and, at the same time, feeding his ego. Did she like what she'd seen? Certainly. She'd liked it even when he'd been dirty and disheveled. But she couldn't tell him that. He'd give her one of those rapacious smiles, crowd into her personal space, steal the air from her very lungs. He'd pull her in with silky promises hidden between his words, tempt her with a flash of genuine emotion. And then he'd leave her fumbling in a tangle of confusion while struggling to cool the heat in her veins. He lured her in like prey, then cast her back into the water as though he found her lacking.

"'How doth the little crocodile, Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile, On every golden scale,'" she recited, just loud enough for him to hear. Her skin warmed as Jareth's gaze intensified and one side of her mouth twitched with amusement. "'How cheerfully he seems to grin, How neatly spreads his claws, And welcomes little fishes in, With gently smiling jaws.'"

A long pause as he mulled over her words. "Am I to understand you think me deceptive and predatory?"

Sarah shrugged, still not looking directly at him. "If the poem fits..." And she gave an airy wave of her hand, unable to hold back her smile, now.

"You'll have to write that one down for me. I rather like it."

_You would_, she thought, but she couldn't stop the burble of laughter that spilled through her lips—only to have it cut off abruptly when Jareth made one of those impossibly fast moves. He stood inches from her, a lock of her still wet hair twined around his fingers before she even had time to _blink_.

"Son of a...You can't keep _doing_ that!"

Sarah raised her hands, intending to shove him away. Froze when he leaned forward. Warm breath skimmed over her cheek, smooth lips hovered over her ear. Gods, he smelled like...like...Sarah closed her eyes, her fingers curling against whipcord and steel covered in velvet. Like dark moonlight and sensuous secrets.

"I wish..." he whispered, absently, as though speaking aloud without realizing it.

And Sarah held her breath.

But he didn't say anything more. He'd gone rigid under her hands. "You wish...?" she prompted.

He pulled away, stared down at her with those strange eyes. A regretful grin pinched the corners of his mouth and he shook his head. "The Goblin King doesn't have the luxury of making wishes," he murmured, moving farther away. But reluctantly, letting her hair slowly unwind from his fingers.

"Why?" she asked, a little more breathlessly than she would have liked. It was happening again, as she knew it would; this game of advance and retreat that she was powerless to control or stop. He didn't answer, just watched as the last tendril of her hair fell from his grasp. "You created dreams and grant wishes for everyone else, why shouldn't someone do the same for you?"

A faint smile. "And who would volunteer for such a chore?" A pause. "You?" And Sarah suddenly became lost in the murky expanse of his gaze, the color of a storm smudged along the horizon.

"Why not?" she said. Jareth's face went blank. His mouth stiffened, his shoulders tensed. "I mean, with a little magic it couldn't be that hard, right?" She tilted her chin up, cocked her head to the side, imitating him at his most imperious. "So, what'll it be, Goblin King? Allow me to grant your—"

His hand muffled the rest of her sentence and she glared up into hard, slate-colored eyes. They stood there, glowering at each other, until the space between her mouth and his hand began to warm. Jareth jerked away and cursed under his breath.

"Don't say something you'll regret, Sarah," he warned. "Normally, I admire your brash nature, but not in this matter."

"Why?"

A grim smile. "Because I suspect my wishes and dreams wouldn't sit well on your conscious if you had to make them come true," he told her, his voice full of a dark promise.

A heated shiver raced up Sarah's spine.

Jareth's smile blossomed knowingly.

And sticky warmth curled around her fingers.

Sarah looked down, the beginnings of a frown pulling her eyebrows together. Drew her hand sharply away from the gleaming rivulet of blue-black marring Jareth's skin. She followed the trail to its source.

If she'd forgotten about his Otherness, she was forcibly reminded of it now. Because humans didn't bleed _blue_.

And, yet, what was truly worrisome was how he'd managed to hide this from her—two days and he'd never said a word about the gaping wound in his chest. It wasn't very big, about quarter-size in diameter, but as Sarah walked around him (already knowing what she'd find, hoping she'd be wrong) she saw the matching wound on his back.

_From the arrow,_ she immediately knew. _That nearly punctured his heart..._

"Sit down," she ordered, dropping her backpack to the ground. "I'll bandage that."

Jareth grimaced, but made a dismissive gesture. "It's nothing," he said. "A scratch."

"It's not a scratch, it's a _hole_." When he tried to walk away from her, Sarah stopped sorting through her pack and made a quick grab to keep him in place. "And it's still bleeding. I'm not a doctor, but I'm sure that's not healthy."

"I would have normally healed by now," he acknowledged.

She didn't miss the way his gaze flickered down to where her grasping fingers had found purchase, hooked beneath the band of his pants. Gold whorls began to scintillate over his hip where their skin touched. _Yet another thing he needs to explain,_ Sarah thought as he gently pulled her hand away. With a sort of resigned expression, he sat down and watched as she dug out her First Aid kit.

"Bandaging it won't help," he mildly told her as she tore open a gauze package. "The arrow was tipped in cold iron, which is quite damaging to my kind. I pulled it out...very quickly. Some of it must have remained."

Sarah looked at the oozing hole then into his eyes. "I'm going to have to dig around and get it out first, aren't I?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

She didn't wait to see his affirmative nod; she tossed the gauze pad back into the kit and held up a pair of black plastic tweezers.

"You know," she muttered, trying not to blanch as she pushed the tweezers deeper into Jareth, "this whole thing has turned out a lot more complicated than you originally led me to believe. I might be asking for some kind of compensation when this is all over." Her tweezers grated over something hard. Jareth jerked slightly. "Crap. I lost it. Sit still, would you?"

She felt his glare on the side of her face, though it wasn't nearly as heated as usual. Kneeling in front of him, nose practically pressed into his chest, she gripped his other shoulder for stability and to make sure he didn't move again. She was trying to be gentle, but she also wanted to get his over with as quickly as possible. The coppery scent shoving its way into her nose and mouth and the feeling of soft flesh under the tweezers was making her feel positively queasy.

Jareth grunted, the sound puffing over her hair. "Than I led you to believe? What the—_bloodyhell_!" Sarah winced her apology as the tip of the tweezers scraped roughly over the piece of iron again. "What the devil are you talking about?"

She shrugged absently, trying to get a hold of the slippery bit of metal. "In my first dream, you didn't exactly give the impression that this adventure would turn out quite so..." She bit her bottom lip as she tried wiggling the iron out. "...adventurous," she finished, frowning at the wound. When Jareth was silent of a long moment, she glanced up at him. Her frown deepened and she shook her head. "Dreams that you don't remember," she muttered. "Never mind."

A salacious grin had taken control of Jareth's mouth. His hair brushed against her cheek as he leaned forward. "I like knowing you dream about me, princess," he murmured.

"I'll just bet you do," she growled. When he didn't seem to have a reply, she glanced at him again, only to find an expectant look on his face. "What?"

"Your dreams, Sarah," he said, a little impatiently. "What occurred in them?"

She hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to say anything. In the end, she glossed over some parts—his comments when he'd appeared in the bathroom at the crystal castle at the very beginning of this trek. She told him about the promise he'd made to explain what, exactly, was going on (he presently scoffed at that, which wasn't surprising). She told him that she knew the story behind his eye, but didn't dare say anything about the way he'd idly combed his fingers through her hair during the narrative. Or how much she'd enjoyed that particular dream. And she certainly didn't mention anything about the kiss.

Even so, "You're not telling me everything," he said when she was finished.

Sarah's mouth firmed. How could he know that? "Pot meet kettle," she groused. "I've told you enough." She paused and tightened her grip on his shoulder, ignoring the tingle of contact. "You really can't remember?"

He suddenly went very still and Sarah took another glance at his face to find he'd closed his eyes. "If I try...I can see..." His brow furrowed. "Your smile, your laughter. A different labyrinth...darker and more wild. The feel of you curled against me." He let out a breath of surprise. His eyes opened and a glint of golden wonder swirled to the surface. "And the taste of your—"

With a determined pull and a soft _ah ha!_, Sarah yanked the piece of iron from Jareth's chest. He was too proud to pass out, but his jaw clenched so hard she could almost hear his teeth grinding together. She tossed the bloodied sliver of metal and tweezers into her kit, then moved around behind him.

"Tell me about how you rescued me from the caverns."

She wanted the explanation he'd said he'd give, but really the request gave her something to concentrate on other than the tantalizing breadth of his shoulders, or the curve of muscle contouring his spine and tapering down to narrow hips. He replied with silence, but he tensed under her hands. She taped off the piece of gauze and shifted around to face him again. Despite the rigidity of his spine, he looked completely at ease, one leg stretched in front of him, the other pulled up with his arm resting on his knee. Sarah frowned.

"It's more complicated than giving my wishes direction, isn't it?"

Jareth cocked his head in a _What do you think?_ manner. And Sarah tried to swallow away the truth. She hadn't really needed to ask—she already knew the answer. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd _known_. It was what had made her take that chance, the risk that had almost terrified her more than being taken by the dwarves. Because it brought to mind unsavory implications, this idea that Jareth was in essence a slave, not just to her _wishes_, but to _her_. She could tell him to stand on his head, recite poetry, eat an apple all at the same time and he would; he was a marionette whose strings were tangled around her fingers.

It was one thing for the Goblin King not to have any control over her. But _this_. Sarah blew out a breath and sat back on her heels. This was too much. How had she acquired this...this _ability_?

Sarah's eyes snapped to Jareth. His long fingers concentrated on sifting sand between them, letting the grains slowly fall back with their brethren to faintly glitter in the afternoon light.

"Figured it out?"

"What have I done?" Sarah whispered, horror in her voice. "Is this because...because I beat you all those years ago?"

Jareth snorted and a brief, humorless smile touched his lips. "It wasn't anything you _did_." He brushed his hand off on his thigh. "In fact, you'll think it too much of a risk—will fight me on it even though, in the end, it will be up to me."

He wasn't making any sense. Sarah's brow wrinkled with concern. Was he retreating into the madness again? But a small measure of genuine amusement returned to his expression. He flicked his fingers in a vague gesture.

"Time," he said, as though it explained everything.

_Not even close, buster_. She concentrated on ripping off pieces of bandaging tape as she worked through the headache of what he was telling her. "Sometime in the future, you decide I should have power over you?" She looked up at him, her brow furrowing. "Why? Why would you do something like that?"

"'What no one knew was that the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the girl,'" Jareth recited, softly. A wry grin notched up one side of his mouth. "Really, it should be the Goblin King _will_ fall in love. Semantics, I suppose," he added with a shrug.

Sarah's hands paused in the middle of their task, and she stared at Jareth incredulously, hardly believing what he'd just admitted. He'd sneered when she'd hinted he could possibly feel such emotion for her, repeatedly made snide comments about he could care less about her if it didn't in some way involve helping him.

Except during that late night conversation, which was starting to feel less like a dream.

"You did this because...are you saying you _love_ me?" she asked, needing clarification more than anything.

In an instant, his mood changed. His mouth pinched, his eyes became flinty, and he jerked away from her. "Not _you_. A different Sarah Williams in a different time. You are _not_ her," he sneered. "You will never be her, can't ever hope to _compare_, so don't start filling your head with ridiculous notions."

Rancor again, which meant she'd come closer to some truth than he was comfortable. The rationalization of his mercurial attitude did little to soften the sting of his words, though.

"And I did this because _she_ loves _me_."

"Loved you," Sarah corrected, her voice steely. She glared at the gauze pad in her hand, then roughly taped it to his skin. "She's dead. Mourn her and get on with your life. You'll be better off, trust me."

He didn't respond until after she'd taped off the last edge of gauze. "Cruel Sarah," he murmured. And she thought maybe he'd caught a tendril of the bitterness she'd tried to keep from spiraling up from her chest and leaking into her tone.

She shrugged, fiercely trying to pretend she didn't care one way or another what he thought of her. "You're lucky that arrow didn't pierce your lung or heart," she said as she put her things away, changing the subject in order to distance herself from him.

"Assuming I have a heart."

His eyes were closed and sharp lines of pain were etched along the corners of his mouth. His hair was dry now, a gentle breeze playfully tugging at the ends and making them float around his angular face like pale silk threads. Again, Sarah was at a loss for the appropriate words to describe him. Like the savage glow of a firestorm or the icy fury of a blizzard, the Goblin King was _striking_ in an almost terrifying way, in a way that made her unsure if he was even possible.

"You're staring."

She was, she couldn't help it. Carefully, she reached out and placed her hand on his chest, felt the strong, measured beat beneath her fingers. Jareth's eyes opened, curiosity sprinkling the grey-blue like golden stars.

Her name breathed through his lips. The sound tangled around her heart, complicated and a little frightening. His hand covered hers, pressing it against his skin in a way that made her feel like he was clutching it there. And the game was beginning again, she knew. Advance, retreat. Except this time...

Sarah didn't move nearly as quickly as Jareth. But she was fast enough to make his eyes widen, his lips part in surprise before he could think to retract the expression. And instead of jerking away, he shifted forward, almost imperceptibly, as though he'd meet her halfway, displace the air between them and fill it with the torrid press of his mouth against hers. Breath coiled, as though one was trying to engender life in the other. The isochronal rhythm under her hand, which she could have marched to, stammered.

"Don't..." and she had to pause to contain a hot shiver, to strengthen her resolve as Jareth pulled in a hushed breath that spoke of hidden fascination and aching desire,"...say my name like that," she warned, her lips lightly brushing over his, the contact crackling provocatively. She moved sharply away from him, leaving him bereft of any resolution, and feeling somewhat satisfied she'd learned how to play this game. "Someone might think you care."

Silence. Then, with a trace of cynical humor, "We wouldn't want that, now would we, princess?"

"And quit mocking me by calling me _princess_ all the time."

Jareth had the audacity to look affronted. "I'm not _mocking_ you," he said. Even his voice sounded indignant. Amazing. "It's what you _are_."

Sarah cocked a dubious eyebrow as she yanked the zippers of her backpack closed. "Oh, really?" she challenged.

"Really." He leaned close, his words fanning over her cheek as he whispered, "And you know what happens to princesses, don't you?"

Advance.

"They get locked up in towers?"

Jareth chuckled. "No, Sarah. They become queens."

She wasn't sure what to make of that statement.

Because it sounded almost...ominous.

"Is that compensation enough?" Jareth pushed to his feet without waiting for an answer, and pulled his shirt over his head, leaving her to gape at his back.

Retreat.

"Is that a proposal or a threat?" she asked.

"Take it however you please. Nothing I say ever seems to have any sway on your decisions."

Well, that was only partially true.

* * *

**A/N:** While writing this chapter, I realized Jareth couldn't bleed _red_! Why? Because red implies hemoglobin, which implies iron in the blood—and if iron's going to hurt him, then how can it be in his _blood_? Constant pain, right? So, it's something more along the lines of hemocyanin, which contains copper and turns blue when exposed to air (yeah, yeah, crustaceans, I know...). Me over-thinking? Most _definitely_. Just wanted to make a note of this in case anything found it strange or disturbing...

And you all get cookies, by the way. Didn't know I had so many _Doctor Who_ fans reading. Love it ;)

**Chapter Title:** _Come near, come near, come near—Ah, leave me still / A little space for the rose breath to fill!_ "To the Rose Upon the Rood of Time," W.B. Yeats


	24. To Run Where the Brave Dare Not Go

To Run Where the Brave Dare Not Go

A harsh gasp made Sarah's eyes snap open. It took several shaky breaths to realize the sound had come from her.

What had woken her? _A nightmare?_ she wondered, staring blearily up at the dark green canopy. Her heart thundered in her chest. Around her, birds sleepily called to each other, the air otherwise still as early morning breathed through the forest.

No, not a nightmare. She'd been dreaming with Jareth, laughing about...something...until—

_His smile fell away as though someone had suddenly erased it from his mouth. His eyes narrowed and his fingers—having inevitably become caught within the strands of her hair—contracted tightly._

_"What's wrong?" she asked, softly. Her eyes trailed over the trees, seeking out the cause of unease humming through the man at her side._

_"When you wake, stay at camp," he told her. And it was no explanation at all, as usual. Her brow furrowed, but he added, "Please, Sarah," before she could question him, eyes hardened to grim granite._

_With a reluctant sigh, she nodded. Jareth stared at her for a long moment, as though making sure she wouldn't recant, then brushed a light, tingling kiss over her cheek._

_"Good girl."_

_She glared at his back as he disappeared into the shadows—_

—_leaped to her feet when an agonized scream shattered the calm gloaming—_

Sarah pushed into a sitting position and stared at the empty space where Jareth had been sitting when she'd fallen asleep. She went through the motions of her morning routine slowly, already missing the presence of the quietly impatient Goblin King. She pulled on her boots, laced them, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail...sat and listened for any sign of Jareth's return.

Sunshine sprinkled through the leaves overhead, making the shade darker than black. She slung her backpack over her shoulders and told herself she wasn't being purposefully defiant. What if something had happened to him? What if he needed her? She snorted softly as she followed the direction Jareth had gone in her dream. Why would he ever really need _her_? Aside from the obvious task of returning his title and magic, what did he _need_ her for?

The loamy scent of the forest acquired a heavy, metallic tang. Was it her imagination, or did the shadows grow thicker the farther she walked? A skirling breeze sent plums of dust into the few beams valiantly trying to pierce through, making the air hazy. The trees rustled overhead, a shushed sound that seemed to spring up in her wake, as though they were talking about her. It felt colder as she moved deeper into the forest and Sarah rubbed her arms, ridding them of apprehensive goosebumps.

Around the gentle curve of the path, she rocked to a startled halt.

No amount of blinking made the ashen skin disappear; no amount of shaking her head rid that same livid skin of the violent sprays of carmine. The shape twisting among the fallen leaves and blackened grass was insistently human, but Sarah's mind refused to acknowledge what her eyes were seeing.

She should have turned back; she should never have come in the first place. She should have learned by now Jareth only said "please" when he was serious...

He crouched down next to the wreckage slowly resolving itself into a body—_No!_ her mind contended. Sarah shook her head again, but it only moved her vision, gave her more pieces to the grisly puzzle. A pair of dainty silver shoes lay haphazardly along the edge of the trail, a delicately thin, gold coronet dangled from the root of the tree, which had been ruthlessly undermined.

A woman. It had been a woman. Sarah was certain when she spied the out-flung arm and the long, finely-boned fingers tipped with perfectly manicured nails, all curiously pristine amid the dirt and blood...

Movement snapped Sarah's gaze up again. Jareth slowly stood and turned. He looked down at himself, looked almost surprised by what he found, then ran the back of one hand over his chin.

Leaving a bright trail of red behind.

Sarah's lips parted to loose a gasp, but it stuck in her throat behind her heart. She'd never seen him look so savage. Even when insane, he hadn't looked more wild and dangerous than he did now. Nothing on his face or in his posture comforted Sarah. He considered her carefully. Predatorily. And he nearly vibrated with tension, every line of his body seemingly ready to swoop down on her should she consider fleeing. His hands were bathed in darkly gleaming blood. She saw the color soaking the knees of his pants, flecking the front of his shirt.

And the lurid smear of it around his lips.

He could be dark and wicked, sometimes cruel and he most certainly wasn't human, but a murderer? Sarah couldn't believe it; didn't really _believe_ it. _I know you didn't do this,_ she wanted to say. _Please _tell me _you didn't do this!_ Her mouth moved only to find her voice caught up in the gridlock of her heart and breath.

"You shouldn't have come," Jareth said.

And it had all the effect of a cold wind curling along the nape of her neck. Because he didn't give her the denial she needed to hear. And all she could see was glittery skin marred with crimson slashes of condemnation.

"But now that you're here..."

He reached a bloodied hand toward her. If it was meant to be a reassuring gesture, it fell horribly short. Jareth's expression shifted toward amusement as Sarah back away a step. The primitive part of her brain took control, came to its own, very resolute, conclusion without the need of anything as paltry as _logic_. She didn't need to _think_ about this, she needed to run—every instinct thrumming through her insisted she _run!_

She stood, immobile except for the tremble of indecision through her limbs, as Jareth matched her backward step with a long, slinking stride forward.

A faint glow caught her eye.

The medallion around her neck struggled to shine through the dark cotton of her shirt.

Jareth took another sliding step. Into a shifting beam of sunlight.

And his eyes shimmered, like the iridescent surface inside a shell.

_Wrong! All wrong! a_ voice inside her screamed. The medallion flared like a branding iron against her skin when Jareth crept forward again. And Sarah finally listened to the warning bells clamoring in her head.

Because Jareth didn't _creep_; he moved sinuously. Provocatively.

The doppelgänger took another step forward—

Sarah bolted.

It would catch her, whatever it was, she knew it would.

The path curved sharply and Sarah stumbled around it. Dark shadows rose to block her way. Arms swinging to slow her momentum, she slid to an uncertain stop. Angry clouds of dust swirled around her as she glanced wildly over her shoulder. Had it cut her off? She wasn't going back, but she _certainly_ wasn't going forward.

She eyed the edge of the trail. Was it worth the risk?

"Sarah!"

Behind her. It was behind her still...that meant it wasn't standing before her, wasn't slowly pulling free of shadows refusing to release their sticky hold.

_Something's still not right..._

That distant voice, calling out to her, had been too far away. Had held a trembling thread of fear. And how would that copy of Jareth know her name?

She couldn't puzzle it out. Not right now, anyway.

Because in front of her...

She thought she'd already met the big, bad wolves. But the hounds of the Wild Hunt hardly compared to the creature slinking toward her. This was a nightmare on four legs. Its huge muzzle curled to reveal obscenely large fangs. Its mangy coat was so black it was nearly lost to the shadows. Piercing eyes glowed with an inner fire and were fixed unwaveringly on Sarah.

It prowled forward, a growl slavering from its mouth.

And there was no warning, no pause as it gathered itself. Like a dark arrow released from its bow, the creature streaked across the distance between it and Sarah. She fumbled for the knife at her belt. The wolf body-checked her with its shoulder. Sarah cried out in terrified dismay as the weapon flew from her grip. It disappeared with a bleak rustle into the tangled foliage edging the path. The wolf snapped at her, crowded near then circled away. It feinted a swipe at her torso, pulled back at the last minute. Wickedly long claws snicked the leg of her jeans and grazed trails of fire over her skin.

The sound so reluctant to break free from her throat earlier finally shattered the air.

"Sarah!"

Having found her voice, she opened her mouth to shout, _Jareth! Oh, God, help me! _but the wolf slammed into her and Jareth's name left her lungs in a painful _whoosh_ as she hit the ground. She had just enough sense to pull her knees up to protect her vulnerable belly as the wolf leaped. Drool spindled between its teeth, spattered over her face and arms. It snapped and snarled wildly, trying to reach her throat. A large paw smacked her in the temple. Deadly talons scored her forehead.

The hysterical scream pouring from her gave her the strength to shove up with her legs. The wolf was hardly phased; it slid to an easy stop, claws drawing shallow rivulets into the dirt. And its maw opened, showing off those sharp fangs in a mocking canine grin. Cold fear shivered down Sarah's spine.

It was playing with her.

Her hands fisted with determination, Sarah stood up. Wiped the blood from her vision. Braced herself for another impact as the wolf darted forward.

The stick _must_ have appeared in her grip by magic. Sarah didn't question it. She drove the pointed end into the soft, watery flesh of the wolf's eye. Tried not to vomit at the sensation. The beast howled in surprised agony and lurched away. It shook its head, showering the ground and Sarah with blood.

The space around the beast wavered, like acidic fumes pouring from its body.

For an instant, Sarah swore she saw a woman crouching before her.

She filed it away with all her other unanswered questions as the wolf glared at her. And Sarah could read the intention in that remaining iridescent eye.

She would die. The wolf would tear her apart until nothing remained but something vaguely resembling a body.

Like the girl with the pristine arm and silver shoes.

The answer suddenly seemed crazy and unimaginable. Had this wolf and that Jareth look-alike worked together to kill the woman? Or was the wolf something other than what it seemed?

There was no time to work through the impossibility of it, though. Because Sarah's grip was tightening around her only weapon and the wolf was preparing to charge.

Darkness blurred toward her. Sarah hunkered down, pulled her hand back at her waist. Thrust the stick forward with all her strength. She caught the wolf in the armpit as it landed on top of her. With a wild yell, she drove her feet into its soft belly as she attempted to yank the stick out; twisted and squirmed to stay out of reach of those snapping teeth and flailing paws.

A huff of air pushed from her lungs as the weight of the beast suddenly doubled.

Arms that were not her own wrapped around the wolf's throat. Hands dug into the mangy fur, jerking the wolf's head away. The three of them writhed across the ground. As soon as Sarah was on top, she threw herself from the swiping talons and thrashing limbs. She stumbled back, fell to the hard earth. The rolling tangle of fur and flesh was swallowed by the underbrush lining the path. Snarls and heavy grunts echoed from the trees. A throaty shout of pain made her close her eyes. She knew Jareth was fast, but it seemed impossible he could have made it to her so quickly.

"Sarah!"

But no. That was Jareth, behind her, his voice wavering between fear and relief as he collected her from the ground with strong arms. He pulled her around—_with clean hands,_ Sarah vaguely noted—so she no longer faced the fierce struggle taking place. And she readily accepted the comfort he offered, buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. Breathed in his scent of frosty starlight as her trembling fingers anchored in his shirt.

A howl of finality sliced through the air. Sarah slapped her hands over her ears to block out the horrible sound. When it faded into a wet gurgle then silenced altogether, she lowered her arms and moved to pull free of Jareth's hold.

"Don't," he murmured against her hair. "You don't want to see this."

No, she didn't. But morbid curiosity twisted her around enough to see the tall, dark figure stumble from the woods—

"_Grosvenor_?"

Except he wasn't the cheerful hunter Sarah remembered. He was spattered with dark blood, his gaze unblinking. Over his shoulder was the lifeless wolf, which he dropped heavily to the ground. He still had his box, Sarah noticed, attached to his belt with a sturdy leather thong.

And his wickedly-edged knife, which glinted dully in his hand.

"Grosvenor," Sarah said again, this time with relief coloring her tone. Jareth's grip tightened when she tried to pull away. She frowned at him before turning back to the hunter. "I didn't think I'd ever..."

She trailed off as the hunter knelt next to the wolf's carcass. Opened her mouth, appalled, as he grabbed a handful of fur and began perfunctorily slicing it away.

"Grosvenor? It's me...Sarah." She wasn't sure why she kept saying his name. Maybe it was the wild gleam in his eyes. Or the way his expression held no hint of recognition. She shook off Jareth's hold completely and stepped toward the hunter.

"I'd advise against interrupting him," Jareth said, softly. He placed a hand on Sarah's shoulder, not to stop her but as a warning. "He's carrying out his _geis_."

"His what?"

"He was placed under a compulsion, of sorts, to find and kill his monarch's assassin," the Goblin King explained. "Now, he finishes it."

Sarah swallowed the sour tang on the back of her tongue as she watched Grosvenor methodically serate and pull the mangy fur away from the wolf's flesh. "How do you know who he was looking for?" she asked Jareth. "You've been locked up and delusional."

When he took too long to answer, she glanced at him. And a strange look lingered on the Goblin King's face. "Because," he murmured, "he's been hunting her for centuries."

Centuries. That meant the hunter was _much_ older than the thirty-something he appeared to be.

"I thought the stepdaughter killed his queen," Sarah said, her voice equally soft. She wasn't sure where to rest her gaze; the increasingly bloody scene before her or the uncomfortably somber expression Jareth still wore. "Why's he hunting a wolf?"

"You'll see." It was the typical not-answer, but he nodded toward Grosvenor.

The hunter made quick work of skinning the beast. When the last bit of fur was yanked from the creature's hind legs, the air around the carcass wavered, like heat rising from tar on a midsummer day. Sarah blinked, thinking something was wrong with her vision. But as she continued to watch, the wolf's body lengthened, shifted, until Sarah could make out thin arms, a slender waist, a swan-like neck...

Not a wolf, anymore, but a woman with skin like alabaster and hair the color of liquid ebony.

"Was she a..." Sarah groped for the appropriate word, "...shapeshifter? Or a werewolf or something?"

"A sorceress," Jareth said. "She sustained her magic by eating the hearts of young women." Jareth's voice lowered, wavered, as he added, "You would have been her next victim."

Blood smeared the left side of the woman's face and pooled in the socket of her eye where Sarah had stabbed her. Sarah wasn't sure where, amid all the blood, the killing wound was, but she wasn't all that curious. She turned away when she realized what Grosvenor intended to do; nearly put her hands over her ears again when she heard the wet crack of bone breaking.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Jareth abruptly said. And while his tone was heavy with displeasure, suggesting she was an errant child in need of constant supervision, a fleeting smile touched Sarah's lips at the way he guided her gently away from the macabre scene.

Kneeling at the edge of the river, Sarah scowled as she dabbed at her forehead, the water not calm enough to see her reflection and inspect her injuries. Head wounds always looked worse than they were, but what would she do if she needed stitches?

"Let me."

The rag—recently the blood-spattered shirt she'd been wearing—was tugged from her grip and Sarah made a slight moue of annoyance. Jareth wore no discernible expression as he dipped the corner of the cloth into the water before lightly cleaning the remaining blood from her face.

She'd avoided him since reaching the river. The shaking through her limbs had started shortly after they'd breached the line of trees, adrenaline leaving and allowing reality to settle in its place. If she was going to burst into tears, which was a real possibility, she wasn't going to do it in front of the Goblin King.

"You have a particular knack for getting into bad situations, princess," Jareth murmured.

She felt a hysterical laugh touch the back of her throat at that, but swallowed it with a wince when he wiped over a deep gash. Angry shadows briefly clouded Jareth's eyes before retreating.

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that," she groused instead.

One of those genuine smiles flirted with his mouth and Sarah shifted her gaze to the river, focusing on the sparkling water rather than Jareth's tender ministrations. Left with nothing to do with her still shaky hands, she clasped them together in her lap.

"You don't have to do this," she finally huffed, irritated that his very presence was impossible to ignore. His faint grin tickled warmly over her skin even though he hadn't moved any closer. She brought her hands up to push his away and retrieve the makeshift towel. "I can—"

"You can allow me to take care of you," Jareth said, in a tone that brooked no argument. With the knuckle of one finger, he tipped her chin up—not forcing her to look at him, simply arresting her attention. It was hard to be contrary when staring directly into his remarkable gaze, but Sarah screwed her face up in a vain attempt. "Please, Sarah," he added, his voice softer.

That wasn't fair. What _was_ it about the Goblin King saying "please" that turned her compliant? It always sounded so earnestly heartfelt, had the power to instantly make her amendable. And his eyes always softened when he added her name to the entreaty.

Her lips parted on a light breath. Her pulse fluttered. Her hands strangled each other. Because she wanted to grab hold of Jareth, pull him against her so she could drown in the scent of dark moonlight and lose herself in the fire of his touch. She wanted reassurance she was still alive, that she was _real_, that she had survived yet again.

The pinpoint of black in Jareth's right eye expanded to match the left. His fingers were warm as they lightly brushed over her cheek, encouraging but not necessarily coaxing.

_Advance..._

But the retreat never came. His touch lingered, pulled away when the spark between them became almost too intense only to return as it faded.

She had to wonder at his hesitancy. He hovered before her, in a perfect position to _take_ what she so clearly wanted to give. Was this another game they were playing? And did she win if she stayed the course, weathered out the temptation and kept a short line on her feelings?

Did she even really _want_ to win?

Especially if losing meant he'd keep looking at her that way.

"She looked like you," Sarah found herself saying, a part of her desperate to find something, _anything_, to diffuse the charge in the air between them. But her voice, much to her dismay, came out as a husky whisper. Jareth's gaze narrowed on her mouth as she spoke, lingered there with absorbed fascination. "The wolf was a girl that looked like you."

"Did she?" Tempered elation broke the reflective surface of his eyes even as he gave a nonchalant shrug. "She was a powerful sorceress. Able to get into the mind and discern one's deepest desire," he said, sounding distracted.

Sarah would have laughed if she had the breath—it wouldn't surprise her if the Goblin King was turning this all around to make it seem like _he_ was what Sarah desired. "You're making that up," she said, trying for playfulness but finding her tone as distracted as Jareth's.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "I swear, I'm not."

"Is she the reason you left me this morning?" Jareth tilted his chin in an affirmative gesture. The movement angled his mouth closer. "And what did _you_ see?"

His gaze flickered up to meet hers. The distance between them, decreasing with every breath, quivered with a tension that prickled against Sarah's skin.

"Are you asking to know what my deepest, _darkest_ desire is, Sarah?"

His tone was almost mocking, his expression indifferent. But his eyes bore hotly down on her. Longing wove through the pauses between his words, hopeful anticipation burst softly through the intensity of his stare. And Sarah wondered if she should start looking for the truth of his feelings, not in the contradiction of his face and voice, but in the ever shifting grey-blue of his eyes.

Sarah licked her lips. Electric heat buzzed around them.

Jareth wouldn't close the millimeter of space, though, and Sarah had the terrible feeling he might pull away, like he had so many times before. But there was something patient in his gaze, as though he was waiting for...

...permission.

"Yes," she whispered. And she didn't know if she was answering the question he'd asked or the one he'd never voice.

Jareth's smooth caresses against her cheek faltered. His breath warmed her lips before it caught in his throat. She'd surprised him, and it almost made a smug grin appear on her face.

But he still hesitated and she couldn't wait for him to make the decision; she grabbed the long, sunlit locks framing his face and pulled him forcibly down to her.

His mouth met hers at an imprecise angle because of her impatience and his surprise, making the kiss an awkward mash of lips and teeth. For a moment, neither of them moved. _Breathed_. Sarah peeked through her lashes to find Jareth's eyes wide open, profound shock swirling through them. He was stiff and unresponsive beneath her touch. And Sarah suddenly regretted her boldness.

_Oh, God, he didn't want to kiss me,_ she thought. Mortification flushed through her, an embarrassed apology climbed up her throat.

Before she could jerk away, a tormented groan vibrated deliciously against her lips, danced into her mouth. Jareth's arms cinched around her, pulled her roughly against his chest. Then his fingers were in her hair, tracing a path down her spine, digging into her hips. Pulling her closer still. Coaxing a soft whimper from her as his tongue swept teasingly over her bottom lip before slipping inside.

_This_ was how it was supposed to feel when Jareth kissed her. The world spontaneously combusted, fireworks exploded above them and Sarah was caught in the shower of sparks. He stole her breath, gave it back with a gasp when she straddled his thighs, when she rocked closer in an effort to feel more of him. _Taste_ more of him. Because her mouth was filled with dark summer rain and hot silk.

His lips and teeth found the sensitive spots along her neck that made her breath hitch, that made liquid heat shoot down her spine and pool in her stomach. _More_, she gasped and, _Yes_, Jareth breathed. Sarah impatiently shoved the material of his shirt up, her hands greedily seeking skin and pulling low, deep sounds of pleasure from him.

The air trembled, like thunder rolling around them, and crackled dangerously.

He traced the curves of her hips, tangled his fingers in her hair again, clenching the strands as a moan shivered between them—his or hers, Sarah didn't know. But Jareth's mouth on hers was suddenly urgent, consuming in a way that was almost frantic, as though he was afraid she would vanish like the insubstantial shadows of dreams.

Somewhere in the gasping breaths and rippling heat, her name whispered through Jareth's lips. The sound of it, rough with an ache she was only beginning to understand, tangled inside of her again. She felt it horribly cliché to think she'd never felt this way with anyone before. And maybe she _was_ doing this because of the shock of all the terrible things she'd survived, maybe she really did just need reassurance she was alive.

But when had she ever felt this fire scintillating through her veins, burning her from the inside out, threatening to consume her and reduce her to smoldering ashes? Once or twice, with Jake. Maybe.

So was this _love_?

Hardly. But since the start of this whole crazy mess, Sarah had known one thing for sure; she was attracted to Jareth. Hard not to be drawn to his predatory grace and sharp wit. She hadn't lied when she'd said she cared, but she hadn't realized how true those words were until she'd uttered them. And every once in awhile, when he gave her one of those genuine expressions or when she caught him looking at her, she thought maybe _caring_ was a solid enough foundation for something...more.

And, now, he clutched at her as though she was a lifeline, kissed her as though he'd waited his entire life just for this one moment. He was velvet under her hands and his hot mouth drank her down. He chuckled softly at her warning rumble when he found a ticklish spot on her side; sucked in sharp breath when her fingers danced teasingly over the sensitive skin above the line of his pants. They gave and took, touch for touch, nip for nip, equally.

Until Jareth's fingers slid up her stomach. Brushed against her breast.

And every synapses in Sarah's brain effervesced.

The world was set ablaze; they set everything around them alight as the inferno devoured them. Sarah burned white-hot even as she drowned in Jareth's touch. Long fingers danced over every inch of her they could reach, drawing soft moans from her that he immediately swallowed, making room for the next.

Just as her muddled brain was trying to figure out how to peel him out of his pants, Jareth stilled beneath her before doing something that nearly blew her mind.

He pulled her shirt _down_. And he began to slide away from her, leaving her lips tingling with his low growl.

"My beautiful heroine!"

Sarah gasped in a breath. A blush colored her face, less from embarrassment and more from the hotly rushing urge to strange Grosvenor. She barely managed to dredge up a smile for the hunter instead of a curse of irritation for his poor timing.

Jareth quickly rose and, whether consciously or not, shifted so he blocked her from Grosvenor's sight. He gave her time to straighten her clothing, pat her hair down so it wasn't quite so tousled. Her fingers brushed over her lips, swollen and probably red from Jareth's heated kisses, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. With a deep breath, she moved to stand beside Jareth. A glance in his direction showed his mouth pulled into a tight line and his fingers curling into his palms as he watched the hunter walk toward them.

"Grosvenor, it's so good to see you again," Sarah said. He returned her smile, captured her hand, and lightly kissed the back. Jareth stiffened and Sarah stifled a chuckle.

"I thought you were lost forever to the Tower," Grosvenor said. His eyes flickered curiously to Jareth, then back to her. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Ah, yes. Goblin King, Grosvenor," she introduced. Jareth blinked and Sarah remembered he wouldn't recall the conversation they'd had about the hunter in her dreams. "He guided me to the Tower," she added.

Jareth inclined his head. "My thanks," he said, not sounding grateful in the slightest.

Grosvenor looked the Goblin King over, never losing his smile. "A heroine, indeed. Although, he looks rather ragged for a king."

Sarah choked back a laugh as Jareth bristled with indignation. Before he could unleash his scathing tongue on the hunter, Sarah pried open his fist and loosely hooked a finger around his when they unclenched. She gave his hand a light shake, grinning up at him when he turned his scowl on her. _Be nice,_ she told him with a gentle squeeze. And, _Unlikely_, he replied with a narrowing of his eyes. But the tension eased from his spine. Somewhat.

"You both look a little worse for wear," Grosvenor was saying, oblivious to their silent exchange. "If you would allow, I have some clean tunics."

The corners of Sarah's mouth quirked slightly higher before she looked away from Jareth. She watched curiously as Grosvenor loosened the strings of a pouch tied to his belt. It was barely the size of his fist, but when he pulled his hand out, he held two shirts.

"Hello, Mary Poppins," Sarah breathed in amazement. "You wouldn't happen to have a bathtub in there, would you?" she asked, a wistful note in her voice.

Jareth's startlingly genuine laugh rang through the air and made an answering smile touch her lips. She quickly changed into the clean shirt when the men turned their backs, frowning a little as it billowed around her waist. Grosvenor produced a belt from his pouch. Jareth seemed to have the same problem, the clothing obviously cut for Grosvenor's broad chest and shoulders as opposed to the Goblin King's lithely narrow frame. Sarah tried to press her lips together around a chuckle, but a soft snicker slipped through at the disgruntled expression on Jareth's face when Grosvenor apologetically explained he only had one belt.

"Maybe it will shrink in the wash," Sarah suggested. She reached out and plucked a stray thread from Jareth's shoulder.

And the tunic abruptly fit as though tailored for him.

A brief look of shock touched his face, quickly wiped away by narrow-eyed suspicion. "What did you do?" he demanded.

Sarah took a wary step back at the fierce note in his voice. "Nothing," she said. His eyes hardened with disbelief and she held her hands out as though the gesture would prove her innocence. "I swear! There was a thread...I just pulled it—"

Jareth's fingers curled around her neck, jerked her toward him. Sarah reflexively reached out to steady herself, hands clutching the front of his shirt. His thumbs dug sharply into the soft underside of her jaw, forcing her chin up and her gaze onto him. The pupil of his left eye flared, swallowed the thin ring of grey-blue around it. Spilled into the white.

Her angry snarl died in her throat as he stared at her. Because darkness spiraled through his normal eye, spinning madly with fear the longer he looked at her.

"Your future..." He took a shuddering breath through parted lips. "Your future has narrowed." The words danced warmly over her face, but the firm line of Jareth's mouth made them seem...ominous.

"What does that mean?" Sarah whispered.

"It means..." A muscle in his cheek jumped. He swallowed hard and the sound scraped through the air, desperate and despondent.

He released her abruptly, as though he couldn't bare to touch her anymore. In typical Jareth fashion, he gave no explanation for his actions or words as he walked away.

Their camp that night was thick with tension. Grosvenor did his best to dispel the suffocating feeling and Sarah gave him a genuine smile for his effort.

"We should move through this place as quickly as possible," the hunter said, looking around at the trees as the dying fire crackled contentedly. "There are ghosts in these woods."

A cool shiver touched the nape of Sarah's neck, but Jareth snorted. "Absurd," he said.

Grosvenor's jaw tightened. "Your irreverence for the dead may be your downfall," he warned.

Jareth's expression melted into sardonic indifference, and Sarah wondered if it was only the wavering light that made melancholy flash through his eyes. "My downfall?" he scoffed. He snapped a twig in half before tossing it into the fire with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. "You haven't the faintest idea how far I've fallen. The Devil Himself is in awe."

Sarah curled into her blanket and turned her back on him. When sleep came, she sought him out in her dreams. And she could feel him, just at the edge of the shadows, but he never appeared, remained out of sight even when the darkness thickened with malevolence and shaped itself into horrifying monsters.

The next day was as uncomfortable as the night before. Sarah masked hurt feelings that Jareth would rather ignore her than _tell_ her anything by keeping pace with Grosvenor. They recounted their adventures since separating at the Tower. And while she suspected he made his stories funny for her benefit, she laughed anyway. Occasionally, she felt angry heat pushing between her shoulder blades. When she glanced over her shoulder at Jareth, though, his attention was directed elsewhere. Sarah ground her teeth and ignored him.

They eventually put the forest behind them. When they crested the hill they'd been climbing, Jareth and Sarah came to a startled halt. She swallowed thickly, glanced at Jareth and saw his jaw clench.

Because the huge structure curling over the grassy plain below them was at once familiar and strange. Where Jareth's was more maze-like, this was made up of three joined spirals. Like a pale vine, the white walls curved through the lush green grass. From where she stood, Sarah could see the path easily; they would have to walk all three of the spirals to make it to the center but it was a piece of cake compared to Jareth's ever shifting maze.

"A labyrinth," Grosvenor said, his tone holding no hint of the anger so clearly trembling through Jareth or Sarah's sharply foreboding surprise.

In the center of the spirals sat, not a castle as Sarah had been expecting, but simply a large, grassy hill sloping gently up from the earth. Surrounding it were reed thin white columns that twisted up to the sky.

"Indeed," Jareth snarled before making his way down into the valley.

* * *

**A/N:** Fairytale used: _Jungfrun i Blaskagen_, similar to _Little Red Riding Hood_. It's a Swedish ballad about a girl traveling to a wake when a wolf finds her in the woods. She offers him her silver shoes, her silk slip, and her gold crown so he won't harm her. The wolf says he doesn't want any of those things, only "thy young life and blood!" The girl climbs up a tree to get away, but the wolf uproots it. The girl's screams are heard by her lover, who runs to her rescue, but when he arrives all that remains is her arm...

I couldn't find an online translation of this except for a short description of it on SurLaLune; if anyone can, let me know. Until then, I've posted the original Little Red story on my author's page.

**Chapter Title:** "To dream the impossible dream, To fight the unbeatable foe, To bear with unbearable sorrow, To run where the brave dare not go." _Man of La Mancha_


	25. Outside Over There

Outside Over There

He was being mocked.

As if it wasn't bad enough he had to suffer the presence of that infernal _hunter_, now he was faced with..._this—_this farcical construct mimicking his land and his very self.

Clearly, someone had a wicked sense of humor.

A laugh, quickly stifled, rang out behind him.

The sound made his jaw and heart clench.

He'd been an idiot, leaving her as he had in that forest. He should have known better, should have known the siren's song calling him away had merely been an apparition. He should have remembered whom he was playing against and how "fair" _never_ factored into the game. It should have been an easily shattered illusion, but he'd been confused upon waking and not able to _see_ Sarah laying across from him. Her voice had come from the depths of the wood. And he had rushed to her, only to become trapped in the spell.

Jareth took a deep breath and shook off the darkness crawling through his chest. He'd nearly failed her all over again. Failed them both. And he wouldn't be able to fix it this time; he wasn't strong enough to go back.

If he lost her now, he'd lose her forever.

He'd told her she would never compare to that other Sarah in that other time, but it wasn't the entire truth. Life had given _this_ Sarah's smile a touch of sadness, where the other had laughed more often than not. But the latter's gaze had always been steely with resolve, her humor never spreading past her lips. This Sarah's eyes were smoldering pools, as though pieces of the sun were trapped beneath their surface. And they had glowed when he'd touched her, heated until he had to close his own against their intensity. She wasn't as daring or brash; she made decisions in a more calculated manner—especially those where her heart was involved.

So her boldness had surprised him. So much that he'd nearly botched the whole thing. Once he'd recovered, she'd become hot silk under his hands and sweet temptation against his mouth. Her lips had tasted of promises, her urgency had been an echo of the desperation thrumming across his heart.

The interruption from the hunter couldn't have come at a more inopportune moment.

Last night, Jareth had feigned sleep whilst Sarah tossed and turned. Through slitted eyes, he watched _that hunter_ guide her slumbering form—frantically searching the shadows—back to her blanket. The man had gently woken her from the nightmares; nightmares Jareth wouldn't permit himself to soothe. Because he wasn't certain what that other part, the one who appeared in her dreams, would say. She would have questions, uncomfortably keen questions, in light of his cryptic insight into her future.

In light of what had happened between them.

Frustration pushed aside the fear in Jareth's chest. They toed the line of something more than Goblin King and heroine, but were not yet Jareth and Sarah. And though hope had welled, so fast and hard it had nearly suffocated him, he knew better than to believe her kiss a declaration.

Sometimes, though...sometimes it was all he could do to resist simply _taking_, to wrest control from her grasp and propel them into a future of _his_ choosing. He constantly had to remind himself she must be encouraged not forced, tempted not tricked.

Because he wanted to crawl into her, sink inside her skin and lose himself forever. It frightened him, how much he _felt_; it was far more intense this time.

Jareth rocked to an unsteady halt. Closed his eyes to regain his equilibrium.

A light touch on his arm made him look down. The concern on Sarah's face nearly vanished as he quickly schooled his expression into cool passivity.

But she peered into his eyes, searching.

And the Goblin King felt a tremble of uncertainty mixed with cautious hope that she'd finally learned to see through his facade.

He pulled away, feeling callous and heartless, and continued walked toward the labyrinth. And he silently suffered her cruel gaze, knowing he had made it so. She didn't understand and he couldn't find the right words.

Too many times it had fallen apart. Too many times he'd given her more than she could handle—physically, mentally. Emotionally. And, time and again, she'd fallen to pieces. Because she'd never been the _right_ Sarah Williams.

Of course, it wasn't the only reason he shied away from telling her anything. More than being afraid she wouldn't understand, he was terrified she _would_. She was so very close to the first Sarah; so close he had to remind himself there were subtle differences between them. Both were clever, but the former had used her brilliant mind for plots and intrigue, for constantly staying a step ahead of those she considered her enemies. Jareth had loved her as much as she allowed, but he hadn't been blind to how her fickle mood could change on a whim. He'd held pieces of himself from her—and she'd known, she _must_ have known—in preparation for when, not if, she decided to turn that wickedly sharp intellect on him.

Jareth sighed tiredly. So many Sarahs and so much time taken to find the right one. That very first Sarah had been the one he'd betrayed. The resulting fulmination had sent him in search of other Sarahs, because they were the only ones who could stave off the coming darkness. And he'd foolishly thought it would be such an easy task, changing the future by mucking through the past. He'd moved farther back in time until he figured out how to make it _right_.

The solution had been so ingeniously simple and yet horribly complicated. The sacrifice hadn't been much at all—only his sanity and his magic—but he'd had to trust he would make it to the right time, choose the right Sarah. Had to trust she wouldn't be like all the rest.

And this Sarah...she was perfection. He'd been worried when he'd seen her as a teenager, feared she wouldn't become the woman he so desperately needed her to be. But she'd grown. Magnificently. Just as resolute in her convictions, just as fierce in her determination, but there was something...kinder, which set her apart from all the others. And it made him want to give his whole self over to her, not because she allowed it, but because she would, he knew, tenderly accept it.

The entrance to the spiraling labyrinth loomed before him. He glared at the pale stone walls, smooth and free of blemishes, so unlike his home. He shifted his weight, crushed the grass, thick and vibrant, beneath his heel. If he could tear this atrocity to the ground with his bare hands, he would.

Instead, he took another deep breath.

As he steeled himself for this new twist in the game, warm fingers laced through his.

Jareth looked at Sarah. The captive air swirled from his lungs when her fingers tightened a fraction and she offered a slight smile. There was a fearless shine in her eyes, a touch of daring about her lips.

And trust in her grip.

_How lucky_, came the sudden flash of realization. How _lucky_ he was to have found this Sarah Williams; a woman who felt the danger, suspected the hardship, yet stood willing to face it with him, regardless. Her belief in the magic may have waned, but she had never let it go completely. She already had the ability to turn wishes into reality; if her belief grew into acceptance, she would be able to reshape worlds.

_And then, the next thing you know, she'll be making your dreams come true..._

Emboldened, Jareth stepped over the threshold with her.

* * *

Darkness ate her vision.

Sarah froze. Too terrified to scream, too terrified to move. Fear fisted around her lungs and shallow breaths panted through her lips. She wiped frantically at her eyes.

Long fingers wrapped around her arms, steadying her, and Jareth shook her gently. "Tell me what you see," he insisted.

"Nothing," she rasped. "I can't see _anything_."

Sarah knew he wore a grim expression; she could feel it in the way he held her against his chest. His heart beat in tandem with hers, echoing the panic and rebounding it into her. She closed her sightless eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm herself and him on the exhale.

"It will pass," he murmured into her hair. But the rapid fear in his chest belied his soothing tone. "Just as everything else has."

"You're all right?"

Jareth's chin rubbed against her cheek as he nodded. "Yes. Both of us," he said, including Grosvenor. "This affliction seems to taken only you."

Sarah ground her teeth together as Jareth released her from the embrace and slid his hand into hers. _Affliction_. She snorted at that. This was just a new torment in a long string of them.

For the first hour of their journey, no one had spoken. Sarah could feel Jareth's tension through his grip, had felt it radiating from him when the tingle between them had grown too intense and she'd released his hand. Judging by Grosvenor's unusual silence and the chill occasionally brushing the back of her neck, Sarah thought each of them was waiting for all hell to break loose.

But nothing jumped out from around the curving walls and, little by little, their steps became less wary and more confident. As they circled through the center of the first spiral, Sarah had let out a breathy sigh.

"This all looks so new," she said, examining a wall without touching it. The trio had paused before the second entrance. Sarah eyed the tall, spindly columns shooting up from the center, much thicker here than from outside. She gave them a frustrated scowl before turning away; they were right over the wall and their nearness mocked her.

Grosvenor pulled a flask from his magic pouch. He offered it to Sarah, who politely declined, and Jareth, who pointedly ignored the hunter. With a shrug, Grosvenor took a drink, then said, "It was built only recently, to protect the entrance to the Queen's realm from a hero said to be coming."

Sarah rolled her eyes, thinking prophecies were a load of hooey. "Any reason we can't scale the wall and get this over with?" she asked, jerking her thumb at the tantalizingly close columns.

Grosvenor looked taken aback at the question and Jareth's expression became bland. Sarah thought it was a perfectly pragmatic suggestion, even if it did go against a few of her scruples. She was starting to tire of this game.

"That's cheating, Sarah," the Goblin King chided, though his lips curled slightly at the edges. "We may not play fair, but we play by the rules."

Sarah muttered a few choice words about other people's idea of "fair"—_"And, _yes_, I have my basis for comparison now, Goblin King,"_ she snipped—and heard Jareth's faint chuckle as he entered the second spiral.

Shrubbery lined the curving path, at first scraggly and wild before slowly evolving into stiffly upright hedges sternly blocking the walls. A few flowers peeked timidly through the bottom branches, like curious children watching passing strangers.

Sarah felt like she was walking through a grand garden, especially when she reached the center of the spiral. Where the first had been lush with grass, this one was blanketed by a riot of color. Flowers glittered in the sunlight, their petals as thin and delicate as spun sugar. All the flowerbeds seemed to have been tended with care, lovingly encouraged to flourish within their circular confines. A sweet, heady fragrance swirled through the air, skirling along the same breeze as a few brightly painted butterflies.

The garden radiated peace. Sarah felt the tension ease from her shoulders and spine. She leaned toward a bright pink flower to inspect it, ran a finger over the feather-like petals.

Her fingers pinched around the stem, their intent to pluck the flower. Maybe she could wear it in her hair, she mused with a smile.

"Sarah, no!"

Jareth yanked her hand away. The sharp tip of a hidden thorn nicked Sarah's finger. They watched as a crimson bead dropped slovenly onto the flower—

And the air erupted.

As long as Sarah's thumb and with teeth like mashed barbed wire, the creatures burst from the flowers with a deafening clatter of wings. She thought they were fairies when the first one bit her. But Jareth swatted one from her hair and crushed it under his boot, and she saw the twisted body was more demonic than the innocuous-looking pests of his labyrinth.

Grosvenor gave a bellow of surprise. Sarah whirled around in time to see a gash blooming along his cheek as he madly tried to fend off the creatures. She moved to help him, cried out when another set of dagger-like teeth sank into her arm. They were worse than swarming gnats and a hundred times more vicious.

"Remove your blanket from your pack!" Jareth shouted over the din. Sarah frozen in shock, hurriedly obeyed when he added, "Quickly!" and the urgency of his tone trilled down her spine.

He snatched the blanket from her grip, swiped it roughly over the bleeding wound on her arm, wiped the blood from his hands and from Grosvenor's face. Through a flesh-eating plague, Sarah watched as he balled the foil material up and threw it across the garden.

The buzzing, biting cloud darted away and descended on the emergency blanket. Horrendously shrill sounds ricocheted from the walls as they savagely tore into it.

Jareth grabbed Sarah's hand and, before she had time to mourn the loss of her only blanket, hauled her into motion.

They were still running full tilt, Jareth tugging hard at Sarah's arm, insisting she move _faster_, when she noticed the vines racing along the walls, keeping pace with them. As she gave a breathless shout, they uncurled from the walls, creating living cat's cradles across the path, hindering each step by twining sinuously around ankles. With only Grosvenor's knife and Jareth's black snarl, they were ill-equipped to deal with the new threat.

"There!"

Sarah followed Jareth's pointing finger and huffed out a breath of relief when she saw the next entrance. Twenty paces. Fifteen. Ten.

A thick vine whipped out. Jareth twisted Sarah and himself out of the way, calling out a warning to the hunter behind them. But Grosvenor was too slow. The thick green vine caught him around the throat, yanked him from his feet and dragged him toward the yawning shadows along the stone wall. His suddenly empty hands scrabbled frantically at the living noose, his shout strangled into a helpless grunt.

Sarah spun away from Jareth's grasp and ran back toward the hunter.

"No, Sarah—!"

Ignoring the Goblin King, she grabbed Grosvenor's hand, dug her heels into the ground. But her attempt to save him only made his face darken to an alarming shade of reddish purple. His fingers slipped from hers. The vine relentlessly dragged him away. And Sarah felt tears of frustration prick her eyes.

"Leave him!"

"No! _Help_ him, Jareth!"

Scooping up the hunter's knife, Jareth hacked savagely at the plant. It shriveled away from his wild swings and dark curses. Sarah's breathes came a shakily as Grosvenor's as she helped him to his feet and stumbled toward the next entrance.

As she bent with her hands on her knees, sucking in deep breaths, she thought Jareth might have let the hunter die as long as it meant _she_ remained safe. And she was certain of it when she caught the furious line of the Goblin King's mouth and the shine of fear in his gaze.

It was the last thing she saw.

Because, now, in the center of the last spiral, Sarah was blind.

Jareth was moving again, but Sarah pulled on his hand, reluctant to go any farther. She could feel his frown as he turned back.

"We must keep going," he said.

"I know, but..." But she was frightened. Not of the dark, but of what might be _in_ the dark. It was the only part of haunted houses she never liked; fumbling through pitch black only to find someone silently following her. It made her feel immensely vulnerable.

And here, the bogeyman wouldn't be some guy in a costume. It would be _the_ Bogeyman and he wouldn't waste any time gobbling her right up.

She waited to hear Jareth's impatient sigh—he could read her so well, he probably saw the thoughts playing over her face—but strong fingers slid gently over her cheek. Sarah squeezed her useless eyes shut and leaned into the caress, welcoming the comfort.

"You have to trust me, Sarah."

"I do," she whispered.

The air around her face warmed with his smile. "Good." And he laced his fingers through hers more firmly.

It was difficult and awkward, walking without sight after spending all her life accustomed to it. And there was the matter of their skin touching, which became nearly unbearable after only a few moments. Jareth moved his grip to her shoulder, steering her in the right direction. After an hour of stumbling and cursing her lack of vision, Sarah was in a perfectly foul mood.

"Did you know," Jareth began, conversationally, "that everything in this world has a reflection in yours?"

Sarah frowned and wondered what that had to do with anything. "Like...a mirror?" she asked, despite herself. Because she desperately needed him to keep talking. Hearing his voice made some of the panic recede, made her breathe a little easier. And she suspected Jareth knew.

"Similar," he said. "But this is a very real, tangible reflection. Take the Clootie Well. In your world, it's a shrine where people seek to heal their ailments. But it's original design holds a darker purpose. Here, it's a passageway for beings who wish to steal life."

"So the reflections are less...evil?"

"Not necessarily," Jareth told her. "They're opposites in many ways, but the original isn't always sinister in nature."

"And _everything_ has one? Even you?"

"Even me."

She found that hard to believe.

Except...she remembered a news clipping hanging on her vanity. Her mother stood next to a man; a man who bore a striking resemblance to Jareth. And if the man Sarah's mother had married had a counterpart...did that mean Sarah did, too?

A flicker at the corner of her eye distracted her. At first, she thought it was the glitter she associated with magic. But this was a glow of blue, not gold. Sarah turned her head. And came to a startled halt.

"I see something," she whispered. "A moving light."

"A will-o'-the-wisp," Grosvenor rasped. "A fairy light that leads travelers to misfortune.

The little gas-blue flame pulsed brighter. Then, seemingly realizing it had her full attention, zipped through the air. It darted toward her, away, then back again. Like it wanted her to follow. Each time it beckoned, its movements became more frantic. Sarah frowned.

"I don't think it wants to hurt us," she said.

She took a step forward. Held her arms out to keep her balance when the ground gave way slightly beneath her. She heard Jareth curse and turned toward the sound.

"What is it?" she asked. A tremor of fear snaked along the back of her neck. "What's happening?"

"The ground is _sinking_," Jareth snarled, just as Sarah's foot plunged into slimy mud. "We have to move. Quickly." And he grabbed Sarah's hand.

She wanted to protest being dragged about like a doll. But the air filled with a horrible sound, like huge lips smacking together. She could envision a great maw opening to swallow them whole. It lent speed to her stumbling steps. She remained upright through sheer force of will, even as each step was sucked out beneath her.

The blue light buzzed around her face, flickering with urgency.

"Go away," she growled.

The little flame darted ahead of her.

And Sarah _saw_.

Like a pebble skipping over water, the will-o'-the-wisp bounced over the ground, illuminating oddly shaped sections. Sarah jerked from Jareth's hold, gripped the straps of her backpack, and stepped to the side. And her feet stopped sinking into the ground.

"Follow me!"

She took off at a sprint, the light guiding her. It felt like playing a game of hopscotch, jumping from one box to another while trying not to touch the edges.

"One for sorrow, two for mirth," she recited on her exhales. "Three for a funeral, four for a birth."

"She's heading for the center," she heard Grosvenor say, his voice loud with surprise.

_And to my misfortune?_ Sarah wondered. But she'd much rather face an unknown enemy, even blind, than be buried alive.

"Five for heaven, six for hell," she panted.

The light came to an abrupt halt in front of her nose, then winked out. Sarah tripped one more step forward, flailing her arms to keep her balance. A strong hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around. She couldn't see Jareth's face, but she had the feeling he was angry with her. Again.

"Seven's the Devil, his own self."

Silence hovered between them. Then, a soft burst of air touched her face followed by the sound of Jareth's dry chuckle. "I should have never doubted Sarah William's ability to defeat a labyrinth," he murmured. When she felt him pull at the straps of her backpack, she frowned. She was blind, not an invalid. "We should wait until sunrise to continue."

She wanted to ask what was around them, but she knew they were in the very center of the labyrinth. She settled down on the grass, found something in her pack to munch on, and shooed away depressing thoughts of never being able to see again.

And the gradual spread of nightfall slowly brought Sarah's vision with it. By the time the sun nestled under the horizon, she could see again. She sighed with relief and let her gaze spin up along the columns, pale as bone in the moonlight, until it reached the glittering sky, promising never to take her senses for granted.

The mound in the center of the open space they rested in was thickly covered in grass. An ornately carved wooden door , firmly shut, was inlaid into one sloping side. Grosvenor snored lightly a few feet away, looking dirty and disheveled. The hunter sported angry red welts across his throat from the vine, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Sarah thought a fire would do much to boost her morale and make her feel safer.

But Jareth lay on his back next to her, head pillowed in his hands and legs crossed at the ankle. And maybe he wasn't a fearsome Goblin King full of powerful magic at the moment, but he certainly made her feel safe.

She sorely wanted to stretch out beside him and curl into his side.

She looked back up at the stars to avoid the temptation. Because if she touched him, she'd be inclined to kiss him...and once she started that whole thing again, she wasn't sure she's be able to stop.

_Or want to._

"Are you scared?" she asked Jareth.

"Of what lies ahead?" She didn't know if he saw her nod, but he answered. "No."

"What are you afraid of?"

A snort of disgust. "_I_ don't fear—"

"Don't, Jareth," Sarah sighed. "Don't pull that arrogant king crap on me right now." Stony silence hovered between them and she hugged her legs to her chest. "It must make things easier, knowing the future."

When she received no reply, she angled her head on her knees so she could look at him. Moonlight softened the angles of his face and it had a devastating affect on her heart. And she was slowly starting to unravel the riddle of falling in love with him.

"Will you tell me what you meant about mine narrowing?" she asked.

"No."

Frustration surged hotly through her, but she pushed it down. Snarling at him wouldn't get her anywhere, it would only make him argumentative. She should be grateful he was talking to her after his bristly attitude earlier in the day.

"Why not?"

"Because sometimes it's more dangerous to know what's around the bend."

"Unless what's around the bend is going to irreparably maim," Sarah mused. "Then I think it would be a good idea to let a girl know what she's walking into."

Jareth's lips twitched into a smile. Sarah idly thought how nice it would be if he didn't suppress those honest expressions so often. A light breeze ruffled his hair and carried his scent of sun-struck dew. The silence between them stretched amicably before Sarah sighed again and laid back on the ground.

"If you won't tell me the future, then can we talk about the past?" she asked.

He took a long time to answer. When he did, he propped himself up on an elbow and leaned over her. His fingers lightly traced the edge of her bottom lip. And his touch was electric all over again. Heat fizzled down her spine, radiated through her veins. The contact visibly sparked through the darkness.

"What is that?" Sarah whispered.

Jareth closed his eyes, his fingers hovering near her mouth as though to feel her words. "The past," he told her. "A connection forged of my magic and your belief. Too strong to be broken or fade." He dropped his hand, leaned away, and the night was suddenly cooler against Sarah's skin. "It was the only way I could make sure we'd find each other again. And it was a risk, a terrible risk."

"Why?"

Jareth looked away. "Because human nature is capricious," he said. "It's hard to predict what you'll grow into. There was no guarantee you'd be the person you needed to be. But I wasn't left with many options by the time you ran the stairs for your brother."

In that convoluted room that defied physics, _"Everything I've done, I've done for you,"_ he'd said. And she'd thought the tingle along her skin, the warm shiver up her spine, had simply been a reaction to him passing through her like a ghost.

But he'd tied himself to her, so she could find him in the future. And he'd only had a thin thread of hope that she'd rescue him from the nightmare.

"Is that where it began?" she asked. Stubbornness streaked darkly through Jareth's gaze. "Please, tell me. Don't make me force you."

"You could, you know."

"Yeah," she whispered.

She could. She could make it a command by the use of his name, and watch him grind the answer out through clenched teeth. And she would see the anger in his eyes—if he ever looked at her again—and would know she'd abused the power given so trustingly to her.

"But I would hate myself." She paused. "And you would hate me, too."

"Does my opinion of you matter?" he asked. His voice held a hint of sarcasm. But his eyes, when he turned to her, held a sanguine light.

"Of course." Surprise colored her tone, as though she couldn't believe he didn't know. "In fact, despite how you feel about me, I've kind of grown to like you over the past few weeks," she added with droll humor.

A faintly wistful grin touched one side of his mouth. "Is that what you think?" he murmured. "That I don't like you?"

She didn't really, not anymore. He wouldn't have comforted her, held her, chased away the nightmares or given her those glimpses of true emotion—he wouldn't have responded with such _fervor_ to her kiss, if he didn't, at the very least, like her. And while the cynic in her wanted to chalk it up to male hormones, the quickening of her heart assured her it was more.

"You didn't when I was fifteen," she pointed out rather than examine the arrhythmic stutter in her chest.

"I didn't," he agreed. "But I respected your tenacity, your ability to see beyond the illusions, the distractions, to keep the ultimate goal in mind. And your loyalty and love for your brother."

"You make it sound like you've never seen those things before."

Jareth shrugged. "I have," he said. "But here...there are darker motives behind the tenacity, a price to pay for loyalty." He looked at her again. "To find those qualities in their purest form in someone so young, that's rare enough. To find someone who's never lost them...that's rarer still."

_He_ had been the one to inspire all those things in her. Didn't he know he was almost directly responsible for who she was now? That, if not for him, she may have grown up to be an awful, self-absorbed woman? As soon as he'd appeared in her parent's bedroom, she'd realized her mistake. By the time she'd left his kingdom, she'd made a firm resolution to be more kind and considerate, with her actions and her words.

Sarah opened her mouth. Pressed her lips back together. Maybe some things were better left unsaid.

And he knew. She could tell by the weight of his gaze, by the curious tilt of his chin and the way soft gold flecked his eyes the longer he studied her.

"Let me see if I understand," she said, trying not to flush at the emotion in his eyes. "I'm here because I ran your labyrinth?"

Jareth shook his head. "No, you ran the labyrinth to end up _here_," he said.

Sarah's face scrunched with confusion. "I'm never going to get used to this time stuff," she informed him, which made him give a soft snort of amusement.

"It's an acquired way of thinking."

He leaned back on his hands, bent one knee and looked up at the twinkling sky. Sarah wondered if she'd ever learn his trick of appearing so at ease regardless of the situation. Or maybe it was something only beings like him could master.

"For you, what happened in the past was merely the prologue to the story," he told her.

"But not for you."

"No."

She waited a few beats for him to continue. When he didn't seem so inclined, she narrowed her eyes. "Do you intentionally give me just enough information to confuse me?" she asked. "Or is it simply in your nature to be irritating?"

One eyebrow arched eloquently. "Irritating?" And a grin took a hold of his lips. "You said you liked me."

Sarah glared to hide a smile. "That doesn't mean you're not immensely aggravating."

"I suppose it doesn't," he relented, the smile lingering along his mouth. He laid back down, turned so he faced her and propped his head on his hand. "For me, it began in a different place, a different time, with a rivalry between siblings. A sister jealous of her brother, even though he was just a babe. Only she didn't wish him away to a rakish goblin king," and Sarah chuckled softly at the face Jareth made, "but instead plotted his death so she could take his throne. To save his life, he was taken by the korrigans, those creatures who oversee the changing of children. They bore him away, traded him for a reflection who was...less."

"Because he was human?"

"Because he was an _ordinary_ human," Jareth corrected. "Not all of your kind are unremarkable."

It was a compliment. Sarah thanked him with a tilt of her chin and a small smile. A winsome glitter shone brightly in his eyes.

"Why is her story so similar to mine?"

"The tale eventually repeats," Jareth said. "Hers was the original; all others are merely variations on the theme."

"So, the boy I thought was my brother is really heir to..." Sarah waved her hand to encompass everything around them. "And I'm here...for what? To bring you back to sanity so you can defeat his wicked sister?"

The slow spread of Jareth's mouth was captivating and worrisome all at once. "Of course not, Sarah," he said. "You're here so _you_ can defeat her. Your brother isn't old enough to fight for himself, by both our laws. He needs a champion. Who better than his sister, in name if not in blood, already adept at keeping him safe?"

"But I wished him away," Sarah said. "If he's so important, why give him to a silly, selfish girl? And what's stopped her from simply coming and taking him away herself?"

"Your family gave him a name," Jareth said. "And names are very powerful things. The best she could do was force you into running my labyrinth."

And, by their own rules, Sarah was allowed the chance to rescue Toby—it was how things worked, how it had always been. No one had ever won—all runners either gave up, gave in...or died. And the Queen had felt confident the boy was hers.

She hadn't counted on Sarah.

And she certainly hadn't counted on Jareth.

"I never wanted you to go through the ordeal," he said. "But it was the only way I knew to get us _here_. What no one knew..."

He trailed off, leaving Sarah leaning toward him, holding her breath, waiting for this secret to be told.

"Your friends...they thought I was betraying you, thought they were defying me by helping you. But..."

But it had all been an act, Jareth playing the villain. Because once he put his mind—that clever, twisted, devious mind—to winning, the Goblin King would be a force to be reckoned with; a force no mere fifteen year-old would stand a chance against. Sarah saw the truth of it in his eyes. By his very inaction—or lack of _serious_ action, since he'd had to make it look believable—he'd helped her defeat him.

"You had to win," he said. "And, after, I..."

"You were Touched," Sarah breathed, knowing she was right before Jareth nodded.

"It's not really the Fool's touch that makes a person crazy," Jareth said, in an almost offhanded manner. "He rips away your magic, forcibly. It hurts like hell and always results in madness."

_"The madness comes. Don't let it touch you."_

Sarah swallowed. "And then she locked you away."

"But not because she thought it would bring you back."

"But because _you_ hoped it would."

Jareth shrugged a shoulder, looked away. Tried to hide the glint in his eyes. Sarah stared at his raptorial profile. To have done all this, to have orchestrated such a tangle of events and risked so much...All for what?"

"You're doing this for her, aren't you?" she whispered.

A frown of confusion marred his brow. "For whom?" he asked.

"That other version of me. The one who died. This all ultimately comes down to her." She didn't bother making it a question; she was almost certain of it.

But a sort of secretive smile lit Jareth's eyes and she thought maybe her theory had holes somewhere. "Perhaps."

"Because you love her?"

The faint smile hovered at the corners of his mouth, almost like he thought what she'd said was funny. Sarah dropped her gaze to the ground, telling herself it was foolish to be jealous of a woman who was her and yet...not. A woman who was dead. It was hard, though, not to think of all the ways she just didn't compare to the Sarah Jareth had known.

"Do you miss her?"

"I suppose I do," he said, his tone making it seem inconsequential. "But she wasn't...enough."

"Enough for what?"

Jareth shrugged a shoulder. "For everything," he said.

Sarah contemplated him before softly asking, "And what about me? Am I enough?"

The moonlight made his eyes glitter with things she could hardly believe; boundless hope, endless belief. He looked at her as though she was the answer to his wishes and dreams.

_Except the Goblin King doesn't have the luxury of making wishes. And he doesn't dream. At least, not yet._

Because, despite what he said, she _knew_ he remembered what the woman who'd cursed him had said at the end. Sarah was determined to find the answer to that riddle as well.

Whatever he saw in her eyes made the smile finally spread fully over his face.

"You know, Sarah Williams, I think you just might be."

* * *

**Chapter Title: **_Outside Over There,_ by Maurice Sendak. A nod to the origins of _Labyrinth_ :)


	26. Directly Directed in the Right Direction

Directly Directed in the Right Direction

Jareth glared.

While the expression _was_ highly intimidating, Sarah didn't think it affected the wooden door in the slightest. When Jareth seemed to come to the same conclusion, he put his fists on his hips. And glared more furiously.

Sarah absently plucked at the grass while she waited patiently for the menfolk to be struck by a bolt of inspiration. The storms of genius, however, were nowhere to be seen. They'd been at it since sunrise, when Sarah had blearily opened an eye to find them already frowning at the door.

"There are no visible hinges or seams," Grosvenor said for, Sarah thought, the twentieth time. Jareth had been amazingly taciturn for the first nineteen, but his expression slowly darkened with each word the hunter uttered. "And brute strength obviously isn't going to work."

One side of Jareth's mouth curled. "Obviously," he snapped. He paced a short line, hands clasped behind his back.

"Have you tried knocking?" Sarah suggested, concentrating on shredding a thick blade of grass. She decided to interpret the answering silence as _Yes_. "Maybe you should try 'Open Sesame!'"

"Perhaps you'd like to contribute something other than painfully obtuse comments."

Sarah looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing at Jareth's tone. His mouth twisted and he glanced away. An awkwardly tense silence strained the air until Sarah sighed and flicked the grass from her fingers. It was the closest he'd come to an apology, she figured.

Pushing to her feet, Sarah walked over to the grassy knoll. Complicated knots, intricate mazes, and dizzying spirals were densely carved into the wooden door. Shimmering gold, satin red, and mercurial silver covered the patterns. The sun bounced cheerfully from the metallic colors, and Sarah squinted to see the extravagant twists and turns in the vibrancy. Grosvenor was right; with the chaotic ornamentation it was nearly impossible to discern where the hinges were.

But doors were meant to open, Sarah thought. She reached out and, ignoring Jareth's barked warning, carefully ran her hand over the complex carvings until she felt something other than wood under her fingers. It was knob-shaped, but with a ring piercing the center. Tilting her head to the side to briefly consider it, Sarah lifted the ring, then twisted it counterclockwise.

With a soft huff, as though annoyed she'd learned its secret, the large door swung open.

"How did you know to do that?" Grosvenor asked.

Sarah shrugged. "Read it in a book," she replied. She frowned as the door revealed— "Another door? Really?"

Jareth peered over her shoulder, creating little rivulets of heat where his breath fanned over the side of her face. Sarah inhaled slowly, momentarily lost in his scent of silvery darkness. Would she ever _not_ be so acutely aware of his presence?

Did she really want it any other way?

Laying around an oddly-shaped hole in the next door were eight shiny black pieces of wood. Jareth reached for them, held them up and inspected them through narrow eyes.

"A Devil's knot," he murmured.

He crouched in front of the mound, hunched over the puzzle and muttered to himself. Sarah gathered her belongings while he worked on the problem, resolutely ignoring the way his pose reminded her of when he'd been in that walk-in closet of a room, where he'd sat the same way in the corner, mumbling with a vacant gaze.

Her bag secure over her shoulders, Sarah knelt next to Jareth. His long fingers hovered above the wooden pieces, then plucked up one with symmetrically cut notches. Next came one shaped like an _E_. Before too long—and after only a small amount of fluid words Sarah couldn't understand, but recognized as cursing—all the pieces fit neatly together. The result was a box with square ends jutting out from the sides. Jareth rose and pushed it into the hole in the door.

The wood trembled, made a mildly alarming creaking noise as though it might splinter, then began to slide up into the mound, like the cover of a rolltop desk. Jareth leaned forward to peer into the opening. His displeasure, when he turned away, lingered in his eyes even though he kept it from the line of his mouth.

"Are you ready?" He looked only at Sarah.

The question hung in the air between them, weighed more than three mere words had any right to. "For what?" she asked, softly.

"For the inevitable conclusion."

Sarah took a deep breath. No, she wanted to say, she wasn't ready. She didn't have all the facts, didn't understand what was happening here. She'd only just come to the realization of _why_, but she still didn't understand the rules or know who her opponent was in this game.

"Do you think I'm ready?" she asked.

He gave the only answer he could; he held a hand out to her. And the gesture said everything he wouldn't. Told her how he believed in her, how he had faith in her ability. How he thought she was _enough_, and so much more. Sarah's lips parted, her breath sighed out.

She laced her fingers through his.

It was much like passing through her mirror, stepping through the door in the mound. Except this lasted longer than eternity. Sarah took another breath as they crossed the threshold, as the cool barrier slicked over her skin. Alarm trilled through her when she realized she couldn't exhale—turned into panic when she tried to squeeze Jareth's hand and felt nothing in her grasp.

"I shouldn't have led you toward the future."

Sarah turned at the sound of the voice. Jareth stood next to her. His head tilted to the side, he seemed to be staring at...nothing. His gaze was unfocused, as though a daydream had caught him unaware.

"What about the future?" she asked.

"There's no control."

"What—?"

"I was contemplating, today, how best to remove the song from crystals."

Sarah's heart skipped a terrified beat. Strange patterns spun out of Jareth's fingers as they moved absently through the air. The shining threads look solid enough to be plucked from the designs.

"Music twirls inside of them, you know, like figures dancing, but I can't remember how to free it." His fingers began to move frantically. "It takes certain powers. Like hers." His eyes, a flat grey-blue, suddenly focused on Sarah. Confusion pulled at his brow. "Like yours."

Sarah nearly choked on the fear swelling in her chest. "No," she whispered. "Jareth, please, no. I don't know how to fix this again."

Because there was no crystal ball to bring him back this time.

"Jareth."

And his name didn't faze him.

He grabbed her, his lackluster gaze narrowing. "Return it," he snarled, giving her a furious shake. "Give back what's _mine_."

His hand went for her throat. The patterns he'd drawn were floating around and between them, sliding over her face like the sticky filaments of spiderwebs. The line of Jareth's mouth was pure madness and Sarah's heart gave a frenzied leap of terror.

But the tightness coiling in her chest loosened under the hot pressure of anger beginning to radiate up from her belly. She twisted in his grasp, landed an awkward blow above his ear. Inadvertently hooked a finger around a silvery thread caught within his flyaway hair and yanked it from his head.

The change happened as she pulled in a breath to shout and his shuddered through his lips.

"Sarah."

She stilled at the ashamed note in his voice. _Could it really happen? Just like that?_ She peered at him, wary of deception. His grip loosened. Frost-kissed lashes rimmed grey-blue the color of sunlit mercury. She sighed out her relief and closed her eyes. Jareth shifted closer.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Another trap was sprung," he said. "It's meant to keep you from going any farther by hiding your way forward."

She opened her eyes and noticed for the first time Jareth's clothes were immaculately clean, free of rips and dirt. "I'm dreaming?"

"In a sense," he told her. "This is...a liminal state, the space between where you were and where you're going."

Sarah made a face. His explanations always seemed so nonsensical. How could there be space _between_? She was either here or there, right? "And how do I get to where I'm going?" she asked.

Jareth's mouth twisted slightly as he looked around. "Of that, I'm not sure," he said. "But the solution will present itself. Eventually."

Weariness dragged at Sarah's spine. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, preferably for two days straight, and know that when she opened her eyes, she wouldn't find anything more threatening than the dust bunnies under her bed. She was tired of the secrets, the riddles, the constant unknown, the fear spiraling through her veins and rushing to her heart. She wasn't a hero and she didn't want to be one. She wanted Jareth to take all his problems and just leave her _alone_.

His hold on her tightened again slightly and brought her chin up. Regret wormed its way through her frustration at the glint of anxiety in his eyes. With another sigh, she leaned against him. "Well, since we might be here for a while, maybe you could give me a hint about what's going to happen," she said.

Jareth eyed her for a long moment. His fingers found their way to her hair, as though the locks held a magnetic attraction. "What has _he_ said?"

Frustration surged again. "Nothing. Bits and pieces of _nothing_. There are all these _riddles_ and I just can't work through them. I'm me, but not really me. I'm another version of me, and a copy of someone else." She didn't like the way that made her feel, being merely a reflection. Weren't reflections blurry and only two-dimensional? "There are answers to questions I haven't even thought to ask, yet. And I feel like I'm running out of time."

"Time is always difficult to wrestle into submission," Jareth said, as though that was common knowledge. When Sarah frowned up at him in annoyance, he smiled. "I'll do my best to answer your questions, though," he added. "The whole thing started with a boy and his sister."

"Skip ahead," she amended. "I've already heard that part."

She could feel his smile against her forehead as his lips brushed over her skin. "In order to make things right, I moved through time, always to find you."

"Why?"

Jareth shrugged. "At first, I wasn't sure," he replied. "At first, you were merely someone I saw that would detrimental to _her_ future."

"A tool."

"If you like." Jareth's arms tightened a little when Sarah stiffened. "You became more than that, though. You became...a friend. Not just to me, but to everyone."

"Just who is it I'm meant to be?" Sarah asked, some of her exasperation leaking into the question.

"You're the one with eyes as green as the Isle carrying Death in her heart."

_"And where her steps fall, she shall banish the Night to make ready the Hill for the Sun."_

It was what Jareth had told the woman who'd cursed him. Sarah pulled away enough to look up at him. Sadness smudged his eyes and his mouth pulled into an almost apologetic line.

"You saw _me_?" Sarah whispered. "All those years ago?"

"Did you think I'd chosen you on a whim?" Before she could think of an answer to that, he continued. "I found you at different points in your life," he said. "The first time was only a handful of years before now, before you'd met your husband." Jareth took a deep breath. "You were so full of life and determination, ready for the next adventure, to conquer those who dared oppress others."

"And she's the version of me who died?" _The one he fell in love with,_ she couldn't help remembering, and the thought weighed heavily in her chest.

Jareth was silent for a long moment. Sarah thought maybe she heard the fissures in his heart widen ever so slightly. "Yes," he finally said. "The next time, you were too old and didn't care. Or perhaps, didn't believe. I found you again. But you had a family—"

She looked up at him in surprise. "A family?"

Jareth nodded. "Yes, two boys and a girl," he said, softly. "They were lovely."

Sarah felt a prick of nostalgia for something she'd never had—maybe never would have—and rested her head against Jareth's chest again.

"I knew immediately, before I even asked or tried to explain, you would never leave them. Again and again I searched for you, the right you, the one who would be able to win this game. I had to go farther back, change the past to fix the future."

"And that's when you decided to find me as a teenager," Sarah realized.

"I had to give you some basis on which to _want_ to help me."

"How did you know I wouldn't make you into the villain?" she asked, glancing up at him.

One corner of Jareth's mouth jumped into a partial smile. "Are you saying you didn't?" Guilt pricked at the teasing accusation, and she thought some of it must have bled into her expression when he chuckled slightly. "You did what you must. And it would make no difference either way, as long as the end result was the same."

"You wouldn't care if I didn't like you?"

He seemed to consider the question carefully. Or perhaps he was carefully considering telling her the truth. "Even if I did, I couldn't let my feelings alter events that had to occur," he finally said, though his eyes held a hint of wistfulness. "The point was to get you here. To do that, I had to find you at the precise moment in your life when you retained your belief in magic, but were still old enough to understand the importance of your actions and what it would mean if you failed."

"So you gave me a challenge."

"To change the future, to erase the failures of those versions of you who weren't enough. To make you into who you needed to be—"

"You manipulated my life," Sarah concluded. Her voice barely remained neutral. As she began to fill in the center of the puzzle, hot betrayal began to radiate from the center of her chest.

Long fingers tugged gently at her hair, encouraging her to look at him again. "You're angry," he whispered. The betrayal mixed with that precise emotion and sprang to her eyes. Jareth at least had the decency to look wretched. "I understand if you hate me. Sometimes, you do. But we need you, Sarah." A soft sound of finality breathed from him. "_I_ need you."

She ground her teeth together, wrestled with the growing sense of violation and the urge to shove Jareth away. Through the choking smoke of burning outrage, a sudden breeze of insight brought a fresh breath of clarity; Jareth had recognized her as a tool, but she'd been wielded with an altruistic purpose. There was no game between them, he wasn't doing anything to benefit himself outright. He was trying to save the world and her brother the only way he knew how.

_He could have _asked _first._

But he'd tried. And she would refuse him every time. His actions were born of desperation. And he'd taken risks—not with her but with _himself—_so huge Sarah's stomach twisted to think of what could have happened if just one thing had gone wrong, if he'd miscalculated in the slightest.

Sarah took a deep breath. Hate him? No, she didn't hate him. Perhaps if she'd had children, if he'd dragged her away from a family, something she held very dear, then she would have. But Jake had died and she'd been left...alone.

Alone until the Goblin King had come again, with his mad eyes and biting wit, giving her a panacea for the hole in her chest; a challenge, a distraction, something to show her how important her life was, how she had a purpose, and how she could, with a little time, learn to love again—

Sarah pulled in a sharp breath. She wondered if the tiny smile hovering around the corners of Jareth's lips meant he'd read her thoughts on her face again.

"Tell me about my future narrowing," she insisted.

Jareth's expression tightened, the humor fell away from his mouth. "Where did you hear that?" he asked.

Sarah looked at him pointedly. A muscle in his cheek jumped. His eyebrows drew together as he raised her left hand and held it between them. The silver thread she'd pulled from his head still clung to her ring finger. With great care, Jareth unwound it then flicked it away.

"I knew this was always a possibility," he murmured, almost to himself as he watched the thread float through the air. "But I didn't think it probable."

Sarah remained still and silent, hoping he'd continue if he didn't remember she was there.

"Of course, I suppose there was no way to predict how your magic would grow," he added, looking back at her. "Especially when exposed to so much of it within this world."

He paused, letting his fingers comb idly through her hair as he thought about his next words.

"Before, your magic was a benign thing, something that was simply a part of you, like another sense."

"Are you talking about the glitter at the edges of my vision when I was looking for something?"

Jareth tilted his head and a small smile touched his lips. "Is that how it manifested for you?" When she nodded, his smile grew and she wondered why her answer delighted him so much. "Yes," he said. "It remained mostly dormant until you came here and started actively using it."

"Really, what you're saying is this is all your fault."

Jareth gave a soft snort of laughter. "I told you once that you were a catalyst with infinite possibilities, remember?" Sarah nodded. "What my conscious counterpart means is exactly what he said; your future has narrowed. The possibilities have lessened with this change in what you are, and so the paths you may choose to take have become fewer."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means we draw closer to an inevitable conclusion."

A tremble of...not quite fear, but something close to it, laced Jareth's words. "It scares you," Sarah whispered. "Why?"

He drew a deep breath in through his nose, held her tightly for a moment before releasing her and taking a step back. "I've found your way," he said, nodding to a point over her shoulder.

Sarah turned. Beams of light winked and wavered cheerfully before her, as though she was looking up at the sky from the bottom of the ocean. She stepped forward, reached a hand out. A thin sheet of what almost felt like plastic wrap separated her from the other side. It yielded when she pushed against it, but she couldn't tear through it with her fingers. She regretted the loss of her knife.

"How do I—?" she began to ask, but broke off when she turned to face Jareth again. The shimmer in his eyes, the line of his mouth, made a hard knot form in her stomach. Dread trickled coldly down her spine, the ominous feeling turning to ice as it slid into her veins and raced to her heart.

Multi-colored threads still floated around them. Sarah batted them aside, ignoring how she destroyed the intricate weave and the way they stuck to her hand. "We're both making it through," she whispered, fiercely.

Jareth blinked and it nearly wiped away the emotion in his eyes. A sarcastic smile erased what lingered around his mouth. "Don't be foolish, Sarah," he chided. "I can't follow you into the waking world."

Sarah frowned. "That's not what I meant, and you know—"

He grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, and pushed her forward. "The one you want is blue," he said.

"Wait!" She turned, only to find him fading away, a mocking smile still on his lips. She faced the way out again and glared. Resisted the urge to stomp her foot in annoyance. "Insufferable, impossible, about to get on my last nerve with that stupid Cheshire—"

A blue thread winked at her. Irritation pressed her lips together and she wondered if she could incinerate the offensive thing with her hot stare alone. With no small amount of chagrin, she reached out and tweaked the thread.

The thin membrane before her split down the center with the sound of ice cracking. Sunlight splashed earnestly over her face and she stepped gladly through. Before her eyes could adjust to the brilliance on the other side, before she could identify the source of the sweet scent curling along the breeze, a sound of annoyance reached her ears.

"What took you so long?"

Blinking golden light from her vision, Sarah found Jareth leaning against a craggy outcropping next to where she'd just come through. She peered back through the opening and found it nothing more than a shallow cave. With a shrug of acceptance—because she wasn't sure much would surprise her anymore—she turned her gaze back to the Jareth.

His arms were crossed over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles. His chin was cocked at that irritatingly imperious angle, and one eyebrow was arched with accusation. But she ignored the brusqueness of his tone in favor of the worried shine about his eyes.

"I was stuck for awhile," she said, shrugging again. She slid her backpack from her shoulders, then ran her fingers through her hair with a grimace. "I got some clarification while I was there, though, since you never seem to be in the mood to share," she added, looking at him from the corners of her eyes.

The line of Jareth's mouth tensed. The anxious light in his gaze brightened. He pushed away from the wall and stalked toward her. "Just what needed _clarified_?" he asked, a dangerous growl twining through his words. "What did that obnoxiously talkative part of me say to you?"

Sarah lifted her chin, unfazed by his tone, and a mocking smile curled her lips. "Shouldn't you know?" she asked. "He _is_ you, right?" No answer. Sarah's mouth smoothed into a serious line. "You might be surprised to learn this, Goblin King, but I don't like being manipulated without reason."

The edges of his nostrils flared, but he didn't reply; he simply stared at her. His silent ire was almost more intimidating than when he vocally tried to cow her. But Sarah raised an eyebrow, shrugged when he didn't seem to have more to say, then turned on her heel to walk away.

"He's me and yet...not."

She looked over her shoulder at Jareth. He was peering up at the sky in that contemplative way of his.

"You in the future?"

"Close enough," Jareth said. He pulled his gaze down to her. "Me with magic, in any case."

_"I'm the one you love, but not the one you fall in love with."_

And wasn't that the truth. Over the past week in the company of the virtually powerless Goblin King, she'd started setting aside all those preconceived notions about him she'd had as a teenager. He wasn't as terrifying as she remembered, or as unfair. He was tricky and sometimes his way of thinking about everything as a game was frustrating. But there were so many other facets to his personality. He was playful and a bit of a tease, he had an unerring sense of fair play and, buried somewhere under those masks he wore, she knew there was a man who felt genuine emotion for her.

Sometimes, realizing she might very well be falling for, not just a king but a king who would probably regain his magic, was overwhelming. It made her feel a little small and exceedingly aware of how clumsily _human_ she was.

It also made her feel kind of extraordinary.

"You know, despite being apart, you two do share something," she said. Jareth tilted his chin in the way she'd come to recognize as a request to continue. "You're both afraid."

The light in Jareth's eyes dimmed.

"Tell me." She barely kept from adding his name and _making_ him answer. When his expression tightened further, she sighed. "Why don't you want me to _know_ anything?"

"It's dangerous to know—"

Sarah sliced her hand through the air, cutting him off. "Don't feed me that line again, Jareth," she said, sharply. His stance took on a disgruntled stiffness and she peered at him, trying to read the answers on his face. In his eyes. "What is it? The total loss of your magic?" Silence, so that wasn't it. "Probably not, since that's already happened. Maybe the loss of your kingdom?"

"My kingdom fears losing me more than I it."

Then it was something worse.

"Death," she hazard.

Jareth snorted at that, but otherwise didn't respond.

"Not your death, of course," she mused, watching his reaction carefully. "Someone else's. Like...mine? My future has narrowed...the possibilities have lessened. But how much?"

Her run through the Labyrinth twelve years ago had only been the beginning of this whole mess. Here she was, again, running through a maze of another's making, trying desperately to win. And even though it was all very different, in the end it was all very much the same.

"Two choices," she concluded. "Just like in the Labyrinth. I live or I die."

Jareth didn't look away from her, his expression didn't change. But the air around him buzzed with agitation.

"That's what scares you," she said, softly, trying to keep the excitement at knowing she was on the right track from her voice. "Because...because..."

_"I didn't fall in love with you when you were a little girl."_

Of course he hadn't. Because he hadn't met her as a teenager until much later. Before that, he'd been in love with another Sarah, the one who'd died. If Sarah _now_ was the same but _more_, then wouldn't the logical conclusion be that Jareth had been in love with all the Sarahs he'd encountered throughout the years?

Sarah blinked, stunned as the rightness hit her square in the chest. A shocked laugh burst through her lips before she could stop it.

Jareth's eyes narrowed in a speculative manner. "I wonder how that's funny to you," he said, dryly. "To find I've been enamored with you for longer than you can imagine shouldn't be a source of amusement."

"You're right." Sarah pressed her fingertips to her mouth. "I'm sorry, you're right. I shouldn't laugh at finding you've been in love with me this _entire time_."

"I never lied to you, Sarah, if that's what you're implying."

"And yet you still manage to never tell me the whole truth."

"I do what I must to keep you on the correct path."

The humor slipped away from Sarah's face. "I'm not your tool," she said. The beginnings of anger darkened the edges of her words. And she thought it must be a coincidence a cloud picked that precise moment to eclipse the sun.

Jareth's gaze flickered toward the sky and one corner of his mouth twitched. "If that's what you'd like to believe," he said with a shrug.

"I am _not_ your _tool_," she snarled, punctuating each word with a step in his direction. "You may have twisted everything around to get me here, at this time, but don't you _dare_ assume I've stayed because _you_ will it so." She raised a finger and aimed for his chest. "I'm here because I _chose_ to be. I've had it with not receiving even a word of thanks for all the crap I've gone through."

He swatted her hand away like an annoying insect. "You want to be thanked?" he asked, and the question was harshly mocking. His expression pulled into arrogant lines of disapproval. "You want me to shout from the mountains how _wonderful_ you are? Tell everyone how much you _sacrificed_ to help me? You're right, Sarah, you're bordering on sainthood."

"You know that's not what I mean," she snapped. "From the very beginning, you've _expected_ me to do what you say, without question. I'm not your slave, Goblin King."

"Not for my lack of trying."

"I'm _done_," she spat. "Go find another version of me. And go to hell, while you're at it."

Jareth's head tilted in the way she was learning meant he was about to say something to gall her further. "How unlike you, Sarah Williams, to quit," he sneered. "You know, you've said all this before, but you're _still_ _here_." And there was a gloating lilt to his voice.

Sarah seethed, so mad the words crammed together in her throat, unable to sort themselves out into anything intelligible. An irksome grin touched Jareth's mouth. Leaning forward, he whispered, "Your first lesson is not to make threats you don't intend to _keep_, princess."

Like a frayed thread yanked at both ends, Sarah's temper broke. The confusion and frustration, the fear and uncertainty of the past weeks burst from her in one forceful expulsion. They whipped violently between her and Jareth, rolled through the air balefully, crackled dangerously and left the scent of ozone in their wake.

Sarah slammed the palms of her hands into Jareth's chest, a furious snarl curling her lips. He stumbled backward, a genuine look of surprise appearing at her sudden attack. He didn't fight back, though, simply deflected her blows.

"Sarah!" He caught one of her wrists, but she twisted from his grip and drove the side of her hand into his ribs, forcing him back another step. "Sarah, stop this childishness."

The words only infuriated her more. She growled darkly, barely hearing his grunt of pain as she shoved him into the craggy outcropping of rocks.

"Enough!"

His fingers wrapped around her wrists like bands of steel, and he jerked them behind her back, throwing her off balance and forcing her to lean against him to stay upright.

"You aren't exactly a delicate lady," he muttered.

Sarah pulled as far away as she could and glared. Jareth merely smirked irritatingly and tugged her closer. His gaze became heavy. And she became exceedingly aware of the lack of space between their bodies.

"Though I can't say I mind ending up in this position."

His voice sparked down her spine, flared warmly in her stomach like the first sip of a fine wine. The pulse in her throat fluttered. Jareth shifted, only slightly, only enough to slide his knee between her thighs.

A harsh breath parted Sarah's lips.

"Will you ever say you're sorry?" she asked, tiredly.

He tilted his face down, closer. "If I knew what it meant," he told her, his smile growing.

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "I'll be happy to teach you," she said, sinister promises punctuating the words.

Jareth's grin turned positively lascivious. "Something I'm already looking forward to," he purred.

Sarah sighed and shook her head. Jareth released her wrists, content to rest his arms loosely around her waist. She let the tension ease from her body, and leaned against him as she looked around. "Where's Grosvenor?" she asked, suddenly feeling bad she'd only just noticed the man's absence.

Darkness encroached on the gleam in Jareth's eyes and immediately altered his mien; anger and a sprinkle of jealousy mixed with a dash of hurt. "The hunter decided to scout ahead until you found your way," he said. And his voice had lost its warm, teasing lilt, took on a businesslike boredom that made Sarah regret asking.

"How long?"

An eyebrow arched elegantly. "Have we been waiting? Hours," he said when she nodded.

Hours. It had only felt like a handful of moments. Would her internal clock ever acclimate to the way time twisted and turned in this place? She thought it unlikely since this adventure was swiftly coming to an end. And even though they'd part as allies, Sarah knew she and Jareth would go their separate ways when it was over.

Unless she had a reason to see him again.

Jareth had gone preternaturally still, his long fingers caging the curve of her hips, his mercurial gaze undoubtedly analyzing each minute change in her expression.

"We should keep going," she whispered.

A muscle in Jareth's jaw tightened. His fingers refused to release her, and his mouth settled into a contentious line.

The first kiss was so feather-light, Sarah didn't even realize she'd leaned up to brush her lips against his. A shiver raced through him and his grip tightened. His heart leaped under her hands—and a part of her grinned smugly to find she could make his body lose even an iota of control.

"You're smiling," he murmured as they briefly parted.

"So what if I am?" She stole another kiss before he could reply.

"How should I interpret that? Maybe you find kissing me as amusing as the thought of me being in love with you?"

He traced a line down her spine, outlined the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, with his hands. She gasped lightly into his mouth as heat fizzled over her skin where he touched her; it was like every time they came together, they closed an electrical circuit.

"Think whatever you please," she answered, her tone mocking. "I doubt anything I say would have any sway on your decision."

Jareth's chuckle rumbled under her hands. "Touché, princess."

He buried his fingers in her hair, pulled her close and kissed her again, this time desperately hard. A sound of pleasure vibrated deep in her throat until he pulled away—not completely, just enough for her to see his expression when her eyes eventually fluttered open. His eyes were still closed as he pulled in a shuddering breath. And she burned the image of him so affected by something as simple as kissing her into her memory. He was beautifully virile, like he had been when he'd started dancing with her in the crystal dream. When he looked at her, the light in his eyes was so intense goosebumps broke out over her skin. And she wondered how she'd ever thought of him as stoic when his fierce yearning made the very air tremble.

"Jareth, I—"

"We should keep moving."

She blew out the rest of her confession and nodded, even though his fingers were still tangled in her hair. She didn't really want to keep going, though. She wanted to run away, go somewhere no one could find her, and bury herself in this feeling forever. She wanted to have nothing more to do than roll over and find him looking at her like this every morning.

"Sarah, I'm..." He closed his eyes briefly again, his mouth twisting with something that might have been regret. "You have to finish this," he said, looking at her. "Please."

She gave another nod and stepped away from him. "I will," she promised.

He retrieved her backpack from the ground and slung a strap over his shoulder. Sarah followed in his wake as they made their way toward, what might very well be, their last destination on this trek.

And she had expected that final place to be another castle.

Instead, they walked toward a thick shadow sprawling through the glade. As they neared, the inkiness resolved into an edifice made of a black stone so shiny it reflected everything surrounding it, like a pool of dark water. Unless she stared directly at it, the edges had a tendency to disappear, blending into the obsidian bark of the trees. Silver leaves rustled agitatedly as she and Jareth passed. A blanket of white clover, patchy with twilight-green grass, muted their steps.

Sarah didn't realize she'd reached out and taken Jareth's hand until the heat of a miniature sun built between their palms.

"This could become problematic soon," he said, lacing his fingers quickly through Sarah's before releasing her hand. "I'm afraid..." He paused, glanced at her, then pulled his gaze away. "I'm afraid I won't be able to protect you if I'm constantly distracted by touching you," he finally said.

It could have come out contemptuously, but the tone of his voice was matter-of-fact, grimly serious, and fear darkened his eyes.

"Wait," Sarah said, coming to a halt. She tugged her backpack from Jareth and rummaged around inside. She swore she'd stuffed them in one of the pockets... "Ah ha!" She pulled out a pair of black leather gloves. "I bet these'll fit," she said, a little smugly as she handed them to Jareth.

He took them from her, a little delicately, as though he thought they might maul him. "Where'd you get these?" he asked.

"From you," she said as she zipped up her bag and slung it over her shoulders. "Well, from that other you," she amended.

"You..." Jareth's brow furrowed. "Are you telling me you brought these _through_ the dream?"

She nodded, not understanding why he seemed to think that was such a big deal. "It's how I got your amulet," she said. "What's the difference?"

Sarah thought she could count on one hand the number of times genuine shock had played over Jareth's entire face. "What's the _difference_?" he repeated incredulously. "The difference is one is an object of immense power. These," and he waved the gloves, "these are worthless pieces of cured animal skin! They're inanimate, insignificant, the shadows of my unconsciousness. There's no way they could become—"

Realization struck him, right between the eyes. Sarah found it fascinating to watch. He stared at the gloves, at her. She waited patiently for him to decide whether or not to explain.

"The magic," he finally said. "_Your_ magic." And he tilted his head back, let a deep chuckle breech the line of his lips. When he looked at her again, his eyes danced with amusement. "Will you ever cease to amaze me?"

_I hope not,_ Sarah thought.

Jareth leaned forward, still smiling. "I hope not, as well," he whispered. Then, he straightened, became serious again. "How did you see it before?" he asked.

She didn't know how she found the breath to answer him. She'd become all tangled up in the glow of his gaze, the honesty of his smile, and the way his soft words had swirled warmly into her chest. "A glow at the corner of my eye," she told him.

He nodded. "It's taken a physical manifestation," he said. "Which is surprisingly wonderful." He slid on his gloves in one smooth, thoughtless motion, then grasped her by the shoulders and turned her around. "Look," he said. "What do you see?"

"A weird building. Some trees."

"Look _harder_."

Sarah frowned, thinking this was ridiculous. But Jareth's fingers tightened a little and she pressed her lips into a determined line. She stared, tried not to be distracted by the pale leaves drifting to the ground—no, those weren't _leaves_. They were thin silver cords floating through the air. One hovered before her, as though waiting for her to do something with it.

_Like make it into a _bracelet_?_ she thought, sarcasm barely overriding a growing sense of mild alarm. She'd desperately tried to believe the two times she'd encountered these threads, they'd somehow been created by Jareth. Because this wasn't supposed to happen to her. She was just supposed to be Sarah Williams, a plain girl grown into a normal woman who had fantastic dreams. She certainly wasn't supposed to have any sort of power—

_"Really, Sarah, you're a wonderful manipulator of your environment...Not all of your kind are unremarkable...Your magic is your own...a benign thing, like another sense...It remained dormant until you started actively using it..."_

"Is it dangerous?" she whispered. She could feel the air shift with Jareth's confusion at the question. "Having this ability. Will it hurt me?"

He chuckled, but not in a condescending way. "No," he said. "There are many mortals who have the talent; politicians able to persuade the masses, artists able to see things other can't. Musicians able to weave spells with their words and melodies."

With great care, she reached out and grasped the string between her thumb and forefinger. She turned her head toward Jareth but kept her attention on the shimmering thread as she asked, "What do I do with it?"

"Magic is thirty percent methodology and eighty percent intuition," Jareth answered with a shrug.

"That's a hundred and ten percent, you know."

"Exactly," he replied, as though anything else would be absurd. Sarah gave an amused shake of her head. "So, what does it feel like you should do with it?"

She frowned at the thread. The end of it curled around her finger, but otherwise she didn't feel like it had any purpose. Yet, anyway. "Save it for later," she said. And watched as it wind lightly down to her knuckle where it rested like an odd ring. It _felt_ right, she thought. In fact, the longer she stared at the string, the more the idea of her having this kind of power felt right.

"Good." Jareth gave her shoulders a brief squeeze, then took her hand and started walking again, pulling her along with him. "Now, I think, we're ready."

* * *

**Chapter Title:** "Read the directions and directly you will be directed in the right direction." Doorknob, _Alice in Wonderland_


	27. I Kissed Thee Ere I Killed Thee

I Kissed Thee Ere I Killed Thee

Menacing shadows snapped at Sarah's heels. Dark corners hissed as she passed. Her footsteps faltered, her fingers involuntarily clutched Jareth's. When he looked over his shoulder, she faked a brave smile and lifted her chin resolutely.

But her stomach churned with an ominous unease, and her heart fluttered erratically at the base of her throat.

Jareth had patiently stood at the entrance of the ebony structure for some time while Sarah worked up the courage to take the step over the threshold. Now, as she followed him through shadow-infested halls, she repeated her mantra: This would be a piece of cake. How many terrible situations had she been in since the start of this madness? And how many of them had she made it out of alive, if not entirely unscathed? She was six and nothing—seven, if she counted the freaky nocturnal squirrel—and she thought that was a pretty good record.

Besides, she was Sarah Williams, the plucky heroine who defied the odds. She navigated nightmare labyrinths with ease, solved riddles, escaped places meant to be forgotten, and survived the mad schemes of unknown queens. She had been chosen as her brother's champion, and nothing was more important now than making sure Toby was safe.

She followed Jareth for miles, it seemed, the floor persistently sloping downward and the air cooling until her skin pimpled. A shiver ran up her spine, out the tips of her fingers. Jareth squeezed her hand. It was supposed to be an encouraging gesture, she knew, but she could have used something more—like a rousing pep talk. Failing that, she'd take some insight into what she was supposed to do or expect.

But all Jareth said was: "Don't let them see you're afraid."

The room they stepped into was…an anomaly.

A thin ring of black framed the hole cut from the ceiling, leaving the room exposed, not to stone as Sarah had expected being so far underground, but to a clear sky caught somewhere between day and night. Below, like a mirror image, was a circular pool. Twilight reflected into the calm water, making it gleam like a dark, malignant eye. Silvery leaves floated through the opening, languidly avoiding the droplets raining up from the pool.

Like the outside of the edifice, the edges of the room kept sliding from the corners of Sarah's vision—and not just because it was perfectly round. Thousands of mirrors lined the walls, floor to ceiling. But they didn't reflect the stark grey floor slipping into the pool or the bruised sky overhead. Instead, they showed dark forests, rolling seas, mountains stabbing into vast skies. Creatures ran through those forests, slithered through the waters, circled the mountains. Emaciated women desperately stomped around a roaring fire, their hair wet, their pale arms stretched up in frenzied benediction. A troop of ghostly horses stampeded over a bloody battlefield. White lilies nodded at passing swans gliding over a little pond…

Sarah came to a startled halt, her fingers untangling from Jareth's. Because she recognized that park, the little stone bridge, the pond…and the pale obelisk, once a snowy barn owl's perch.

Two mirrors down, she found the house she and her husband had lived in, nestled at the edge of a forest.

She reached out a hand.

"Don't." Jareth grabbed her wrist before she touched the surface. "Use of the mirrors comes at a terrible price."

"Is that really…?" She couldn't tear her eyes away. She watched birds flit through the trees, saw a car slowly making its way down the meandering street.

"Yes."

The next mirror showed the hut where the witch and Talia lived. The blind woman was plucking lavender from the front garden, but Sarah didn't see the hag anywhere. Next to that was a crystal castle, and Kira walked toward the river, gently waving aside the strange, butterfly-like creatures attracted to her.

The implication of what she was seeing rebounded through Sarah.

"She's been _watching_ me?"

"You are the enemy."

"That's really not fair."

A humorless grin hitched up one side of Jareth's mouth. "It rarely is."

"Will anything happen to them?" When there was no reply, Sarah slanted a glance at Jareth. "Silence from you always means you think the answer will upset me."

His eyes flicked away. And a muscle in his cheek jumped. Sarah followed his gaze.

"Grosvenor!"

The hunter didn't move behind the silver surface of the mirror. He stared blankly over Sarah's head. His clothing was torn, a thin trail of blood sliced over his left cheek, his bottom lip was swollen, and a bruise had begun to ring his left eye.

"He was an idiot," Jareth muttered. "You're lucky he didn't get you killed."

"Is he okay?" She started to reach for him, remembered Jareth's earlier warning and dropped her hand. But not before she felt the deep, bone-aching chill emanating from the mirror. "What happened?"

"He helped you," Jareth said, no inflection on the words.

"That sounds like an accusation." Jareth simply shrugged, and Sarah frowned. "We have to fix this."

Frustration tightened the edges of Jareth's mouth. "We don't have _time_ to fix it," he snarled. "You are here to restore my magic, _nothing_ more."

"I thought this was about saving Toby and your world from a despot ruler."

Darkness flashed through Jareth's eyes. And cold suspicion trickled down Sarah's spine. He glared, then turned away and stalked toward the center of the room.

"I recommend not looking into any more mirrors. Some will show you things you're better off not seeing."

She looked at Grosvenor again, thoughtfully. _Or things you don't _want _me to see?_ she silently mused. "What is this place?" she asked instead.

"The Hall of Mirrors." Jareth stood in the center of the room, glaring into the pool.

"Although, less like a hall and more like someone's very large vanity."

"Would the Lair of the Queen be more to your liking?"

"_Lair_." The laughter came from everywhere. It shushed across the cold stone floor, pinged from the mirrors to bounce mockingly through the room. Sarah froze, mid-step, and saw Jareth's shoulders stiffen as the cold, clear voice added, "You make it sound so _sinister_, Goblin King."

The vistas in the silvered glass faded until they were all completely dark. A pale flame ignited within one. It slowly circled around the room, growing closer as it moved from mirror to mirror.

"The game's over," Jareth said. "Show yourself, Anann."

"Over?" The laughter turned mocking and chimed around Sarah and Jareth, like ice striking crystal.

Sarah felt her brow crinkle. That voice…

"The game is indeed over."

…there was something familiar in the lilt of that voice.

"I assume you're here to concede. And I gladly accept your defeat."

The pale flame resolved itself into a pale woman wearing all white. White pants clung to long legs and disappeared into knee-high white boots. Over her silky white shirt was a tight, sleeveless tunic that stopped at her waist and glittered like the palest of dragon's scales. A white sheath hung at her hip, the hilt of the dagger a translucent crystal. And she wore a mask sliced from the moon and sprinkled with stardust.

"Who is that?" Sarah whispered to Jareth.

"You didn't tell her?" Wine red lips curled maliciously at the corners. "I suppose you thought that would help this time." She shook her head in an admonishing manner. Her hair, gathered into a high ponytail, slipped over her shoulder like a dark waterfall. "The correct question, Sarah Williams, is _who_ are _you_?"

The woman pulled off her mask.

And Sarah stared in stunned silence at…herself.

_Should've seen that coming…_

She should have instantly recognized that voice. Except it held a hint of malice Sarah had never heard before. She should have recognized that smile. Except the expression held more dark mockery than she was familiar with.

_"Did you know that everything in this world has a reflection in yours?"_

But a mirror would have held a more accurate image of Sarah Williams than the woman circling through the silvered glass. Because Sarah's eyes had never been so coldly calculating. Her demeanor had never been so gleefully vicious. This woman…A shiver touched the nape of Sarah's neck. This woman would stop at nothing to win.

"I must say, Goblin King, I'm impressed you made it so far this time." She raised a hand, palm up, to the glass and curled her fingers. "Give her to me and we'll end this foolishness once and for all."

Jareth chuckled. The sound was so void of amusement, so frigidly emotionless Sarah took a step away from him. "It seems I'm once again in possession of something you want, Anann." And his voice held all the smooth cynicism and biting promise it had when Sarah had first met him. "What are you willing to give me in exchange?"

That icy trepidation slid through Sarah's veins at his words. She had thought this would be a battle between herself and the queen. So what was he doing?

_Making a deal,_ a dark voice whispered.

Anann's eyes narrowed. "We aren't _bartering_, Goblin King," she snarled. "You have been declared _druth_ and, as such, no longer have any rights."

"What's that mean?" Sarah whispered. "Drewth, what is that?"

"Legally insane," Jareth growled.

"And the human," Anann continued, "has been ruled _cimbid_ and also has no rights."

"What did she just call me?"

"An unransomed captive."

Sarah made a rude noise. "I broke us out of that stupid cell just fine without being _rans—_"

"And since she has admitted to freeing the Goblin King, a prisoner of the Crown," Anann interrupted, "she has been rendered _fer coilles cain_."

"A violator of the law," Jareth translated before Sarah could ask.

"That's okay, though, right?" Jareth's face was devoid of expression, which worried her. "I mean, there has to be a way around it, right?"

"A violator of the law has only one recourse open to him or her."

Sarah swallowed the dread collecting in the back of her throat. "And what's that?"

"Death."

_No_. There had to be another way. There had to be a loophole somewhere—there _always_ was. When she'd played against the Goblin King, all those years ago, there had been a way out of every situation. She hadn't come this far only to be defeated by laws she'd never been told about. That just wasn't…

_"We may not play fair, but we play by the rules."_

The rules. If only she _knew_ the stupid rules.

_"You're no more than a pawn being wielded in a game too complicated for you to understand…And so, everything works out perfectly in her favor. Check."_

No, she didn't need to know the rules, she needed to understand the _game_.

The queen had shifted her pieces around the board with subtle mastery. A Fool that moved at a crazy diagonal, a king castled in a Tower. And Sarah had been pushed ruthlessly forward, a square at a time, while the queen hunted one thing; Sarah's king.

But not her _Goblin_ King. He was Sarah's knight. And maybe his armor wasn't very shiny, but he was still strong and powerful, maneuvering best in tight places when he was in the thick of the action.

"I get it now." Sarah stepped forward. "White always goes first. And your opening move was killing my husband, wasn't it?"

She thought about time, other Sarahs, remembered where it had all started. Not with her, the Sarah Williams now standing next to the Goblin King, but with another. And, when she hadn't been enough—when she'd died—Jareth had reordered time, shifted everything around again and again until he found her as a fifteen year-old girl.

"No, for me, this time, it was the _book_. Not planted by the Goblin King for me to find, but by _you_."

Except…

_"I never wanted you to go through the ordeal. But it was the only way I knew to get us _here_."_

…Jareth had set it all up so the queen would have the idea in the first place for Sarah to find the book, to fall in love with the story.

To make a wish.

"You shouldn't have been able to beat the Labyrinth," Anann snarled. She took a deep breath, settled her expression back into cold humor. "No matter. The mistake has been rectified. I'll have my recompense."

"What's your price?"

Jareth sucked in a breath and grabbed her arm. "No, Sarah, _don't—_"

"What price?" she asked again, ignoring him.

A smile flashed across Anann's face, quickly, sharply, her teeth glinting like a stiletto just before it was sheathed in soft flesh. "Your life."

"Done."

"No," Jareth whispered.

"Yes." Sarah stared defiantly at the queen. "I'm only a pawn, and you'll capture my king as soon as you take me." She took another step forward, standing slightly in front of Jareth. "But I've reached the last square, your majesty," she added, "and am allowed to call one of my pieces back into play."

The triumphant smile Anann wore faltered. Transferred eerily to Sarah's mouth.

"You've taken the Goblin King from the board, so he's mine to reclaim."

A weak shaft of light filtered through the open ceiling, its helpful fingers pointing to a small medallion hanging around the queen's neck…

"And you _will_ give him to me."

The other woman's nostrils flared. "Your life is mine."

A low chuckle of delighted understanding caressed the back of Sarah's neck. She glanced at Jareth as he moved to stand next to her—suppressed another shiver. Because his eyes still held a nightmarish darkness that his mocking smile didn't bother to reach.

"Except even you can't condemn someone based on the visions and prophesies of a crazy man," he said to Anann. "As soon as Sarah commits the crime you're accusing her of, her life will be yours." He paused, and his victorious expression held a vicious edge. "But, then, you'll already be dead…won't you?"

Into the heavy silence, Sarah whispered, "Check mate, your majesty."

Anann stared at her for a long moment. One side of her mouth pulled up. And a soft laugh slid up her throat. Her gaze shifted to Jareth, her laughter twinkling through the air.

She yanked the pendant from around her neck and held it out.

"Well played, Goblin King," she murmured.

The gold pendant slipped through the mirror, tinked musically against the stone floor. When Sarah didn't move, Jareth pushed lightly against her back. She kept a wary eye on Anann as she strode forward, suppressing a shiver as the frost-green gaze followed her.

She snatched the little pendant from the ground, pulled the Goblin King's amulet from under her shirt. Frowned down at the gold disc—at the pattern engraved on it. The same pattern as the queen's maze…

_Coincidence,_ Sarah told herself. She held the horned amulet up.

The pendant flew from her fingers, clicked into place. The Goblin King's amulet began to twinkle with an inner light, like a star being born, and hovered weightlessly in the air. Sarah looked from it to Jareth, waited a heartbeat. Two. When the necklace merely remained afloat in front of her, she pulled it from around her neck and gave it back to its rightful owner.

Jareth bowed slightly, allowing her to easily slip the chain over his head. The amulet fell against his chest—

Thunder smashed through the room, so loud it made everything go white. The mirrors rattled against the walls. The ground trembled and cracked.

And through it all, Sarah heard a deep, throaty laugh. Sinuously dark, full of insidious delight, the sound resonated through her bones, slipped up her spine to crawl along her scalp.

When her vision cleared, Jareth stood before her.

He grinned. Fiercely. Wildly. An expression befitting a crocodile.

A tremble of uncertainty gripped her. Here was the dangerous Goblin King she remembered, scintillating with power—with _magic_. He had reacquired his Otherness, occupied all the space in the room, demanded attention simply by _being_.

Sarah moved quickly out of his way as he walked toward her, turned to watch as he strode to Anann's mirror. He pushed a hand through the glass, like it was thick mud, grasped the white queen's hand—

_No._

—and helped her through.

Anann smiled at him. "I should kill you for trapping me in there."

She leaned up and slid her mouth over his.

Sarah swallowed the burning ache bursting through her chest.

"But I'll forgive you since it proved most entertaining." She curled into Jareth's side, slid an arm possessively around his waist. And they were a stunning couple; dark and light, shining with a beauty no mere human could compete with. "My clever Goblin King. I never imagined you'd get her to _willingly_ give up her own life."

"You liked that, did you?"

_What's going on here?_ Sarah wanted to ask. But the words stuck in her throat as that cold trepidity slowly turned into alarm and seized her heart. Sarah shook her head—this was wrong, all _wrong_—and backed up a step when an apathetic smirk slid over Jareth's face.

Anann laughed. "It was delightfully unexpected." She tilted her head so it rested against Jareth's shoulder and contemplated Sarah. "She's prettier this time around."

"Isn't she."

"But not nearly as bright as some of the others."

"No?"

"I liked the first one the best—she reminded me more of myself than any of them."

"Is that why you killed her?"

Anann made a small sound and shrugged. "I've grown tired of this game." She unsheathed her dagger. "Finish it and we'll find something new to play."

Jareth's smirk turned into a chilling grin. His fingers curled around the hilt Anann offered him.

Sarah's heart leaped to her throat, the very core of her being went cold as Jareth held her gaze. She'd thought when she restored his magic he would become a pleasant mixture of the two men she'd come to know over the past few weeks. She'd _believed_ it—

"You seem confused, Sarah Williams," Anann said. She circled around Sarah. "Look at what you've done," she whispered in Sarah's ear. "You've given the Master of Time back his power. And you came here thinking _I_ was the villain…isn't that funny."

—but there wasn't any hint of the easy smile Sarah had seen in her dreams. And she couldn't find the swirl of warmth she'd recently found in his eyes. All she saw was an unbearable ennui—an expression her heart dreaded.

_"Are you a part of this?"_

_"Are you asking me if I've conspired against you?"_

_"It's certainly starting to look that way from where I'm standing…"_

"You thought there were only two sides to this game. But the Goblin King is a master manipulator. And he's been waiting a long time for this."

"This isn't right," Sarah whispered. "Something is wrong." Where had it all gone wrong? Find the queen, get the Goblin King's magic, dethrone Anann, and keep Toby safe by whatever means necessary—that had been how this was all supposed to play out.

The Goblin King playing a game of his own, though…Sarah's brow furrowed even as her heart insisted it had been betrayed. Because he hadn't been afraid of her death—he'd been afraid he'd _lose_ if she died.

"How long do you think he's had to perfect the art of getting people to do what he wants? Did you think you were part of some grand, altruistic crusade? Did you think you were somehow special? Or maybe," and she yanked Sarah's head back, "maybe you thought he loved you."

Of course she'd thought he loved her.

But Sarah was merely a copy of this woman—this coldly beautiful, terribly powerful woman.

The queen laughed, a cruel sound that echoed around the room. "You see now, don't you, what's happening here? He used you, just as he always does."

_No, this isn't _right_!_

"He's watched you fail, over and over again. He's put you in danger more times than you will ever know. And he's done it all for one thing—to win. Not the game between me and you, but the one between me and _him_." Anann forced her to look at the Goblin King again. "It's true, you are merely a pawn. Have you finally realized _whose_?"

Sarah stared at Jareth, tried to look past the sinister smile, tried to find something familiar in that mercurial gaze.

_"They are all mischievous and love meddling in the affairs of others, sometimes to the point of cruelty. It's the _degree _to which they meddle that separates them."_

_"What are you saying? There's just Bad and Worse?"_

All she saw, though, was the terrifying Goblin King, his eyes glinting in the perpetual twilight like the edge of his blade.

"No, I don't _believe_ you," Sarah rasped. "He may be tricky, but he's never _lied_ to me."

Anann chuckled. "Amazing, how blindly you trusted him. How many lies will it take, Sarah Williams, before you finally see the truth?"

"Why?" Sarah directed the question at Jareth. "Why are you doing this?"

But he didn't answer. He walked forward, leaned down to lightly brush his lips over hers. And her heart broke when he whispered, "I'm sorry, Sarah."

He drove the blade into soft flesh.

Sarah's eyes widened, her lips parted. Jareth stared calmly down at her.

A harsh sound of pained surprise grated loudly through the air.

With a quick yank, he unsheathed the dagger. He caught Sarah when she stumbled forward, the warm blood on his hand soaking into the back of her shirt, the hilt of his blade digging into her spine. His free hand moved to twine into her hair, gently tilting her chin up.

"Sarah."

Her breath shuddered out. Her entire body started to tremble.

And Jareth smiled. "It's over."

* * *

**A/N:** Ten drafts later and a bloody stain on the wall from banging my head against it, and I finally have…this. Such as it is. Next chapters (because I think there are still two more, lol) in the works and hopefully out sooner than this one! Also, I'm in the middle of re-writing some chapters, cleaning up others, and fixing weird italic mistakes (FF is screwing with me, I swear). If you get an alert saying there are _two_ new chapters, it's because I've split one up!

I was _this_ _close_ to killing everyone and calling it quits, so super _duper_ special thanks to **startraveller776** for talking me down off the ledge, as it were. _(_If you haven't been reading her stories, you're missing out on sheer Laby _brilliance_!)

Threw in a _MirrorMask_ quote as a nod to The Jim Henson Co./Neil Gaiman/Dave McKean, since this chapter sort of draws from the movie. Did you catch it?

**xxyangxx2006:** Wow, I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying the story so much! There actually _is_ a bit of significance to the way Sarah's magic appears. It's not super important, but I'll throw it in there since you asked :) And thank you!

**jinx1764:** Your prodding is never irritating and is always helpful! Ha! Look at me not finishing this when I said I would…I'm _great_ with deadlines, lol. It didn't help that I _freaked out_ about this chapter. But I've started taking those deep breathes again, and I think it's all under control, lol. Probably more questions (again) than answers in this chapter, but I swear I'm getting there! Thank you!

**harrynginny2eva:** Thanks!

**daughterofthe1king:** So much for not having to wait for the end! (sorry!) But I'm determined to finish this within a timely manner! Thank you!

**startraveller776:** Did Sarah face who you thought she would? I had a whole ton of things I was going to say in reply to your review, but now I'm just terribly grateful for your help and that you put everything into perspective for me. Thank you!

**UndergroundDaydreams:** I'm seriously trying to make this all make sense for everyone, lol! But you're on the right track with the time thing—because Jareth went back to when Sarah was fifteen, none of the other Sarahs (or what they did) exist anymore. I know how you feel about the time travel thing—I've given myself headaches over this story, trying to figure it all out. I always wanted a _real_ explanation for why Jareth would fall in love with someone like Sarah, you know? Knowing her when she was older (and maybe a bit different) was the only answer I could come up with. And I'm tickled you loved the 30%/80% bit—that was one of those throw away lines that came out of nowhere, but once I wrote it I loved it. Thank you!

**Patriot16:** It is, in a way, supposed to be a dark fairy tale—darker than the Grimm's, though, and closer to the ones collected before they started collecting the tales. And I'm glad you like it! Thanks!

**jujulr:** I've been taking your advice for past chapters and have been rewriting, so I wanted to first thank you (again) for the concrit you've given me. And I was hoping the last chapter felt more urgent, so it's good to hear it came across. Thank you!

**ZuliaGirl:** Your review made me grin hugely and blush madly. Thank you!

**ASunInWinter:** Such compliments! But! No missing sleep just to read—it's just not worth it, lol! Thank you!

**Queen Of the Damned:** I'll keep going 'til it's finished, promise! Thanks!

**Lasairfhiona:** Not a quick update, so I hope you're still reading! And thank you!


	28. Between Love and Madness

Between Love and Madness

"Stay with me, Sarah."

At least, that's what she thought Jareth said. A terrible noise echoed through the room—or was it through her head?—like millions of droning bees. Air had suddenly become a precious commodity her penurious lungs couldn't afford.

Sarah's fingers coiled limply into the front of Jareth's shirt.

"_Please_."

His eyes held a frantic light.

Her vision speckled around the edges.

She had _felt_ the blade, cold as death, glide against her skin. Strangely, there hadn't been any pain. Wet heat had seeped through the back of her shirt. The hand at her throat had convulsed, so tightly it drove the blood into her ears and eyes, squeezed the remaining air from between her lips. Anann had let out a harsh gasp of surprise from behind Sarah.

And then Sarah was falling forward, staring up at Jareth with astonishment. Fear had rendered her mute, shock had stolen control of her limbs.

"It's over, Sarah."

Did she dare believe that? "I wish…"

"Anything—_anything_, just say the words."

She tried again. "I wish…" But her words were fragile around the edges. Was that her trembling so violently? Or him?

Her heart cautiously found its way down into her chest again. She sucked in a shuddering breath now that her throat was clear of the obstruction, then exhaled the panic from her lungs—not all, but enough. Enough to pull herself back together to stand on her own. Enough to let anger gain purchase.

Because she had thought the blade had been meant for _her_. Even when Jareth had whispered his apology against her lips, even as the keen edge sank into Anann's side, Sarah had almost truly believed the Goblin King had turned into her villain.

"I wish you had _told_ me you were going to do something like that." Her voice quavered, but Jareth's eyes widened at the vehemence framing the sound. "I thought you were going to kill me!"

He stared at her in silence…then _laughed_. She nearly punched him. But he covered her shaking hand with his and pressed it against his chest, under his amulet.

"You didn't think I'd ever let you come to any harm." Jareth tilted his head to the side and examined her, and she knew her eyes were still a bit too wide, her face a little too pale. "Or…perhaps you did." One side of his smile altered to reflect some of the hurt in his gaze. But he shrugged, as though it hardly mattered. "All the better, I suppose."

She tried to pull completely away, but Jareth refused to release her from the embrace. She twisted in his arms to glance over her shoulder. The queen lay in a pale heap, her hands and clothes stained with inky blood. Her dark hair covered her eyes, but her lips were still parted with surprise. Sarah thought maybe a better person would have felt a pang of compunction at seeing the woman's body sprawled there…

Sarah was just glad it was over.

She looked back at Jareth and narrowed her eyes. "Is this the part where you tell me it was all some elaborate act?"

"Naturally."

"A very convincing one."

"As it had to be."

His smile made her think he was ignoring the sarcasm burning through her tone—until he sighed and tightened his hold again.

"Games within games, Sarah. Anann took something from me and I reciprocated the favor. When neither of us could reclaim that which we'd lost, we continued the game, over and over."

But there was another, more complicated game being played. Sarah aimed her frown at Jareth's chest, where the medallion winked cheekily in the wan light, as she tried to fit the pieces together. What had he told her…?

_"For me, it began in a different place, a different time…a game too complicated for you to understand…"_

"Of course. You were finishing the one started thirteen years ago—"

"As you measure the events."

"—when her brother disappeared…because…" Sarah turned all the bits of information around. "Because _you_ took Toby." She received one of his dazzling smiles, and it made her involuntarily flush with delight.

"What no one, especially the evil queen, knew was the Goblin King saved the baby," Jareth said. "The korrigans oversaw the making of the changeling, but I moved him out of reach."

"By moving him through _time_," Sarah concluded. She returned his proud smile and shook her head, thinking he was such a—

"_Clever_ Goblin King," a dark voice chuckled.

Sarah whirled around, but Jareth pulled her back, stepped in front of her. She peered around his shoulder. And she thought, _That's really not fair,_ even as her breath stopped all over again.

Anann struggled to rise, her hand pressed against the wound in her side. Midnight blood wept from between her fingers and slovenly _drip_, _drip_, _dripped_ to the floor.

_Dead should mean _dead_, no matter what world you're in…_

The queen stood, hunched over so her loosened hair hid the pale oval of her face. But Sarah could hear the vicious cut of her smile in her voice.

"I am _thoroughly_ impressed by this betrayal. How ever did you manage it?"

Jareth's expression was smug as he brushed the tips of his fingers high over his left cheek. He left a dark line of the queen's blood behind, like a warrior's marking.

Anann snarled. "I should have plucked that damnable eye out centuries ago."

"Or perhaps never given it to me in the first place," he suggested. Anann's face went smoothly blank, and his mocking smile found its place on his lips. "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? Did you _think_ I wouldn't find out you and your cousin conspired to place this curse on me?"

"Such wild accusations. Gwyneira acted entirely on her own. I only ever wanted—"

"To know your future. Desperately. Your brother was newly born and you were terrified of what it meant." A humorless laugh vibrated from Jareth's throat. "But I never said—never would, no matter how many pretty lies you told me. Do you remember them? You promised me a release from this burden. But you _couldn't_ break the spell, could you?"

"You loved me."

Jareth nodded. "I did," he admitted, his tone a little sad. Sarah's heart constricted at the confession. "But you only loved my value. And that wasn't enough."

Anann's gaze flicked over his shoulder, landed on Sarah. A beautiful sneer touched the queen's lips, and Sarah couldn't help but wonder if Jareth had learned the expression from her.

"So you schemed and you plotted…for what? Revenge for your broken heart?" She narrowed her eyes, an icy smile curling her lips. "And how's that working for you?" she whispered. When Jareth didn't respond, she laughed, a sound as biting as an arctic wind. "My poor little Goblin King, so full of hope and longing. And what has it amounted to? Naught. You'll remain cursed for the rest of your long, miserable life, always searching for the one who will grant your wishes and make your dreams come true."

Jareth's spine stiffened as confusion settled over Sarah's brow. That was all it took? Someone to fulfill his wishes and dreams? But…he'd warned her against it: _"Don't say something you'll regret, Sarah…because I suspect my wishes and dreams wouldn't sit well on your conscious…"_

"Did you think _this one_ would love you?" Another cool chuckle spindled through the air. "She doesn't even know her own heart."

The queen gave an idle flick of her fingers.

An evanescent melody swirled through the air, the tune as hard to catch as a breeze, slipping away from Sarah's ears before she could recognize it. "Do you hear that?" she whispered, looking around for the source.

Jareth shook his head. "This game is for you alone. You know how to play."

"Nothing is as it seems…" Sarah couldn't help but glance at the mirrors beside her, though. She pulled in a sharp breath.

On the other side of the silvered surfaces, people danced. They spun in colorful circles, their clothing like it had been before. But in this room, deep velvety shadows twirled between the dancers, giving the once merry fete a bite of malice.

"My cousin and I share a gift," Anann murmured. "Do you remember?"

A bright figure slipped through the revelers. Sarah's brow furrowed and she drew closer to the mirrors—

"I can see into her heart. Just as I can see into yours, Goblin King. It's lovely when it's breaking, by the way."

—because she'd recognized something…something in the way the figure had moved or the fleeting smile she thought she'd seen. A few of the dancers smiled at her and, _Come closer_, they beckoned. She ignored them, followed the elusive figure from one mirror to the next, trying to keep pace, always a step behind. And the dancers laughed, gestured for her to join them. _Come closer, come in, come see_.

Bone-numbing cold licked against her skin in an icy warning. But an urgent need overrode caution. She had to discover the identity of that person staying just beyond reach, giving her a teasing glimpse before sliding neatly out of sight—

"Sarah!"

That voice…

Her steps slowed. Her brow furrowed. She shook away the immediacy clouding her better judgment. Had she almost lost the game?

A shine of gold and blue caught her eye, and she glanced back at the mirrors.

"No," she whispered.

Her hand clutched her chest to prevent the oncoming splintering of her heart. Her eyes widened against the hot prick of tears. She couldn't believe what she was seeing, knew it couldn't be true.

It was as though the image of one person had been superimposed over another. He wore that motley of yellow and blue, the diamond pattern outlined with glittering silver and gold. But the mask, which he'd worn on the two occasions she'd seen him before, hung from long, pale fingers. So now…

Now she could see his face. His eyes flared like blue stars from under sun blond curls. He smiled, the wicked twist of his lips from the grassy plain, then morphed the expression into the lopsided grin she remembered so well.

"No." This was a trick. A reflection—

"I'm sorry, Sarah. Truly, I am." His voice held all the gentleness it used to. She became blind to everything else, deaf to all but him, anticipating the brutal crack of her heart.

"Jake?"

"The man you knew as Jake Furst was a fabrication," the Fool told her softly. His achingly familiar smile grew, even held a touch of regret.

Sarah shook her head again. It had been real; _he_ had been real. They had met right after college, had married in the park she'd loved as a child. Their laughter had filled the shadowy corners of that house sitting on the edge of a dark forest. They had talked about their future until…until he'd been found in the shade of a wickedly-thorned bush.

"I saw…the body." She couldn't seem to catch her breath. "His…body…"

The Fool brushed his hair from his eyes, a habitual gesture ingrained in her memory. _You should cut this, _she'd tease, tugging at a wavy lock. And his mischievous grin would spread over his face. _That's not the impression I got last night,_ he'd suggestively reply.

"You saw the illusion you were meant to see." His tone was still sorrowfully _kind_. "Don't you remember what I told you, Sarah? The hawthorns are gateways to the Otherworld. I couldn't stay with you forever."

"No…You…Jake…he promised his entire life to me."

And it was Jake who placed his hand against the glass. Jake who whispered, "You can come back to me, Sarah. I can make you forget all this heartache. I can take it all away, make you happy again."

Happy again. Wasn't that what she wanted? Wasn't that what she'd secretly wished for ever since he'd left her? And here he was, not exactly the man she thought she'd known, but…he could give it all back…make her believe again…

She reached out.

"Sarah!"

That voice…

No longer arrogant and peremptory, it held a note of unfeigned panic. It stopped her reaching hand, curled her fingers indecisively into her palm. There was something she was supposed to remember…

"I can save you from this," Jake persisted. "Just take my hand."

"Sarah!"

That voice…

It burned away the fog of confusion blinding her heart, resonated through her entire being. It made her believe—_he_ made her believe.

"No," she rasped, snatching her hand away.

And he wore the face of the Fool again, cool and dangerous. "You should have taken your happy ending when you had the chance, Sarah Williams," he snarled.

Sarah reflexively reached for the amulet around her neck—

—grasped at nothing but the collar of her shirt. The Fool's dark chuckle distorted the mirror. He lunged forward. Grabbed her.

_"The madness comes. Don't let it touch you."_

She struggled frantically in his hold, desperately trying to free herself as he dragged her inexorably forward. Her panting breath burst from her lips in opaque clouds, the cold from the silver bit agonizingly into her skin. A horrified scream spiraled up her throat. Smashed against the glass in unison with the heels of her palms.

A faint _crack_ made both Sarah and the Fool pause. Dark, wavering lines spidered from the corners of the mirror, crawled up the Fool's legs. Like a malignant vine, the cracks snaked out into the mirrors on either side. Slivers of glass zinged out from the edges.

"Impossible," the Fool whispered. A deep fissure cleaved his shocked expression in half. "_Impossible_. You are just _human_!"

"Not all of my kind are unremarkable."

She ripped away from his grip as he fractured.

"Sarah!"

That voice…

She whirled around.

Found chaos had erupted around her.

Those things she'd seen before, those creatures that crawled and slithered, they had crept from the mirrors while she'd been caught by the Fool's beguiling promises. Covered in scales and fur, riding on the backs of horses with ember-red eyes, they were the things of nightmares so terrifying the brain refused to remember them upon waking.

The glass behind her creaked. Ominously.

Sarah dropped to her knees. Hunkered down and covered her head.

The mirror exploded. Jagged shards screamed through the air as they flew wildly around her. She winced as a few ripped over her arms, made herself as small as possible and held her breath.

After the storm, when the only sound was the faint tinkle of glass falling to the floor, Sarah peeked out through her arms.

A dusting of glitter covered the room, interspersed with chunks of glass. She carefully stood, removed her backpack and shook the sharp slivers from it. As she crushed the pieces under her boots, she realized what the glitter was really made of—she hadn't just shattered the mirrors. She'd pulverized them into fine powder.

She hadn't destroyed them all, though. Some still remained in the circular room—exactly three. Jen and Kira, the Gelfling king and queen, slipped alertly through one with an army of beady-eyed Podlings. Talia cautiously stepped through her mirror from a sunlit garden, her head tilted warily. And Grosvenor lurched forward, a bewildered look in his eyes, but his hand already clutching his knife.

"Sarah!"

She spun around.

And he was there, just as he'd been before. Just as he'd always been. He was bloody and savage-looking, but his mercurial gaze held everything she thought she'd lost.

Before Jareth could reach her, something flat and solid punched into Sarah's chest. The blow slammed the air from her lungs, sent her sprawling across the floor. The sharp edges of scattered mirror shards tore into her hands. She would have cried out at the slicing pain if she could have found the breath.

Her chest and hands pulsed agonizingly as she struggled to her feet.

"Did you think it would be so easy, Goblin King?" Anann hissed.

The deadly point of the queen's blade nestled under Jareth's jaw.

"Did you think you could bring this inferior replica here, teach her a few fancy tricks, and become the _hero_?"

"No!" Sarah took a step forward, ignoring the throbbing in her hands as a thin streak of dark blood trailed down Jareth's throat.

Anann removed the knife only long enough to point it at Sarah. "_You_ killed my jester, Sarah Williams. Fair's fair, wouldn't you agree?"

_"How far would you go for something you believe in, Sarah? How much would you sacrifice for someone you love?"_

_"Everything."_

_"And for the Goblin King?"_

"I'll give him to you," Sarah said, shoving desperation into her voice. Why wasn't Jareth using his magic? Hadn't that been the entire point of all this? "Toby—that's who this is all about, right? I'll give him to you, just…just don't hurt him."

"No, Sarah," Jareth whispered.

"He's not even really _my brother_!" She looked away from the disappointment in Jareth's eyes. "You can't get Toby on your own," she said to Anann. "You need me. And if you kill the Goblin King, I'll never help you."

If she thought Anann was dangerous before, she was more so now. The frost green of her gaze had melted to hot barium, sparking wildly.

"Do you know the downfall to being mortal, Sarah? You _love_." One side of her mouth twitched up in a quick, humorless smile. "That, and you don't have nearly enough time to learn the fine art of deceit." She angled the blade under Jareth's ribs, a sheen of madness in her gaze. A dark, wet flower bloomed over his shirt. "I'll bleed you slowly, Goblin King," she whispered, "then remove your traitorous heart so it can be mine forever."

"No! Our bargain was my life!" Drops of crimson arced from Sarah's hand as she flung it out, as though the gesture and her words had the power to stop the rage-filled queen.

A glint of silver caught Sarah's eye.

Quickly, she unwound the grey thread from her finger. With a triumphant sound, she yanked the ends violently apart. The air popped, as though they had suddenly shifted in elevation. The entire room pitched at a crazy angle. Water sloshed noisily from the pool, the walls expanded with a deep groan.

Everything paused…

Sarah's victorious smile wavered when nothing else happened. She stared at the strings dangling from between her thumbs and forefingers.

Her only defense.

Destroyed.

* * *

_"Two choices. Just like in the Labyrinth. I live or I die."_

She'd said it so casually, as though the enormity of it meant nothing. Two choices. It always sounded so easy. Truth or lies, dreams or reality. Life or death. Adept as he was at games of chance, as much as he relished playing the odds, how could he have ever believed all this was worth the risk?

Sarah looked helplessly at him, her fingers pinched together as though she just torn something apart. "If you're going to do something, Goblin King," she whispered, "now would be a good time."

The room trembled again. He glanced up at the ceiling as grey dust sprinkled down from the cracks sprawling from the center.

"'The donjon stands by the turbid river, But Time is crumbling its battered towers; And the slow light withers a despot's powers, And a mad king's curse is not forever.'"

Anann chuckled. "_Poetry_? That's hardly going to help you now."

Jareth smiled at Sarah. "Thirty percent methodology, eighty percent intuition. And five percent patience," he told her.

"A hundred and fifteen percent," Sarah murmured, and shook her head. "You never make any sense."

The room gave a great, shuddering heave. The roof began to rain down in large pieces, the walls cracked, the sound rolling through the air like thunder. Behind Jareth, Anann made a sharp sound of surprise.

Jareth snapped his head back. The queen cried out and stumbled away from him, slicing him across the ribs as she retreated. He ignored the pain as he whirled around, bringing his elbow up and slamming it into her jaw.

A familiar tingle began in the tips of his fingers, and they finally came back to life. The sensation rushed through him like adrenaline, left him almost giddy.

The final chunk of ceiling crashed to the floor, momentarily blocking the sky and blanketing the room. When the air cleared, Jareth swore.

Anann had disappeared.

But the monsters had regrouped, swarmed around Sarah and her friends. Through the settling haze, he could see them, and a chuckle of pride slipped from him. Sarah stood back to back with the blind woman, her hands twisting through the air, weaving intricately invisible patterns. Each gesture brought another creature to its knees before she deftly dispatched it and moved on to the next.

"Help Grosvenor, Jareth!"

Among the chaos, he saw the hunter beset by two snarling trolls, a battle he was clearly losing. Jareth gritted his teeth. With his magic returned, he could choose to ignore the fierce impulse to do as she commanded.

But Sarah would never forgive him if he let something happen to the idiotic man—her _friend_. With a sigh of annoyance, he took off toward the hunter, producing one crystal after another and slinging them toward the hunkering creatures. Their thick skin prevented his magic from having any real affect, but it stung enough to draw their attention. One of them snarled and turned to face Jareth.

He dashed forward the last few steps, fell to his knees, slid across the ground next to the hunter and plucked the knife from the man's loose grip. In one smooth motion, Jareth ducked a wild swing, turned on his knees and arced the blade toward the creature's legs. He felt the keen edge slice easily through muscle and tendon; felt a satisfied smile stretch his lips as the troll howled in agony.

One down.

Coming gracefully to his feet, he sought out Sarah again. A large brute of a man had her by the throat, choking off her screams. She thrust the heel of her hand into her attacker's ribs. The man grunted. Then his meaty hand shot out and slapped her across the face. Hard enough her head snapped back on her neck.

Fury colored Jareth's vision, trembled hotly through his veins. He would _eviscerate_ that man. He quickly dispatched the remaining troll, absently sheathing the blade in the creature's throat before running across the room.

Before he reached Sarah, though, she rocked back on her heels and slammed her fist into the man's face. His nose gave a sickening _pop_. Blood spurted over his mouth and chin—a dark shade of red that meant he was human or, at least, something close to it. Jareth laughed as Sarah yanked at a bit of air. Whatever she did sent the man up in a burst of flames.

"My mortal's fancy tricks seem to be quite effective," he said.

With a biting smile, he turned and found Anann standing behind him, cold iron in her hand.

She darted forward, made a swift feint to the left before ducking under his swing. The blade bit into his side. Jareth sucked in a breath and lurched away, hand clutching the wound.

"It matters little," she sneered. "I'll derive more pleasure from killing her myself. And perhaps I'll leave you alive enough to watch." She made another impossibly fast move toward him.

Jareth grabbed the hand holding the blade, gave her wrist a sharp twist. Catching the dagger before it hit the floor, he yanked Anann forward and plunged the point up under her ribs. This blow would be fatal—he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Anann's laugh was thick with the gurgle of blood filling her mouth. "I always knew you'd be the one to break my heart," she rasped.

He jerked the blade up, into the grisly flesh of the organ. Anann's final breath gasped over his face. Blue-black blood spattered his gloves as he ripped the dagger out.

He stared down at where she'd fallen. And let out a breath he'd been holding for centuries.

It was over.

Jareth closed his eyes as he summoned a crystal, relished the feel of the magic sparking along his fingertips before he tossed it at the queen's lifeless body. He turned around and walked away as her remains erupted in cold blue fire.

Sarah and her friends were crawling out of the rubble, dusting themselves off and counting their losses. Only a handful of the Podlings had been lost, but the hunter was seriously wounded.

Jareth made his way out of the crater and found Sarah sitting on the thick grass, dumping out the contents of her medical kit.

"My beautiful warrior princess."

Shading her eyes with one hand, she scrutinized him. "You're filthy, Goblin King."

A grin split his face as he settled on the ground next to her. Leaning back onto his hands, he surveyed the wreckage. She had once again reduced an entire building to craggy boulders. The remnants of the mirrors dusted the scattered stones, making them glitter in the sunlight.

"You know, princess, your magic is astonishingly violent and lacks a certain…elegance."

Sarah snorted. "I guess you'll have to teach me all about elegant magic, then."

"I can teach you _much_ more than that," he purred. His smile grew when she laughed. He reached up to brush his fingers gently over the bruise forming on her cheek, unintentionally leaving streaks of inky blood behind. It made her look fierce, wild. Savagely beautiful.

"You joined the party a little late," she commented. And he could see the question hovering in her eyes; why had it taken him so long to use his magic?

"Returning my magic didn't instantly return my power over it." He contemplated the blue sky, took a slow breath of the crisp air. "It's like…meeting an old friend. There are things you remember, things you've forgotten. It takes time to get reacquainted after being apart for so long."

"An _explanation_?" she teased. She bumped his shoulder with his, then leaned against him. "I didn't know you had it in you."

He narrowed his eyes in a mock glare, but he couldn't stop the smile from spreading over his face. "You are an insolent woman," he growled.

"And you…"

She tilted her face up so the words whispered over his lips. The urge to kiss her was strong, but he concentrated on the soft light in her gaze. He trapped it with all the other treasured memories he had of her so he could replay this precise moment over, again and again.

"…you are my valiant Goblin King."

Jareth put a hand to his chest as she pushed to her feet and walked away. He watched her cheerfully hug the Gelfling king and queen, saw her sober as she knelt next to Grosvenor and smiled at Talia, who was attempting to clean the hunter's wounds.

_My valiant Goblin King._

He had moved the very heavens to make sure she survived this nightmare. Because he loved her, more than he ever had before. And she…

_My Goblin King._

Well, she may not feel entirely the same. But she had claimed him this time, heart and soul, in a way she never had before. He had been hers forever—_would_ be hers forever, now.

He could only hope it was long enough.

* * *

**A/N:** Final chapter on its way! Thanks to all who have added this to their alerts and favs—you're all awesome!

The poem Jareth quotes is "The Curse of Hungary," by John Hay. Also, I mentioned awhile ago that this story was based on a folk/fairy tale. If you haven't read _Tam Lin_, then I highly suggest heading over to my author's page and checking it out. It's a Celtic ballad that contains one of the best and strongest heroines I've ever found—none of this waiting to be saved by the prince business, oh no :)

Another special thanks to **startraveller776** (who writes Labyrinth _gold_) for putting up with crazy ol' me :)

**Chapter Title:** _"Between love and madness…lies obsession."_ Because 80s slogans rock :)

**ASummerBreeze:** Always twisty, this story is ;) Don't think you're terrible at guessing how this story was going to end—half the time, even I had no idea what was going on, lol! Thanks so much!

**Loren:** Hey, thanks for the review! I hope these last two chapters don't disappoint!

**Buffy:** I'd never leave you high and dry! Hope I can end everything in a satisfying manner! Thank you!

**ZuliaGirl:** I hear ya with the whole "mind warp" thing—although, in my case sometimes it was more brain cramp, lol :) Thanks!

**Tai DuClau:** Your review made me all blushy! Thank you so much!

**Dancing Nancies41: **We're getting there! And thanks!

**PhoenixBlade:** Sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoyed this one, too—thanks!

**BBerry:** The sledgehammer sounds painful! But means I must have got something right in this story… Thank you!

**VampireMafiaQueen:** Had to leave you with one last cliffie before we get to The End ;) Glad you've enjoyed all the twistiness! Thank you!

**startraveller776: **Yeah, I split a chapter in half—sorry for the confusion! Ah, the Who's A More Awesome Writer game! XD I'm glad the reveal of Anann wasn't out of left field—I tried to drop hints, but didn't want to beat everyone over the head with it, you know? I kinda felt the chess allusion necessary since I was mixing in Alice/Through the Looking Glass ideas. And I couldn't _really_ give up on this story—I just wanted to strangle it for awhile, lol. Thank you so much!

**Kitten4: **I love "wow"s! :) Thank you!

**UndergroundDaydreams:** Haha, sorry o.O I was going back through and doing some re-writing and decided to split a chapter in half. A distraction indeed! I never want Jareth to turn into the villain, no matter how well he may occasionally play the role, so I suppose the idea was to push the boundaries on what readers would believe. Although, putting your trust in the storyteller makes _this_ storyteller a little nervous, lol. Hope these final two chapters meet your expectations! Thank you!

**jinx1764:** Have I told you, you rock? 'Cuz you do, of course :) I grinned like a maniac when I started reading your review, let out an evil laugh somewhere in the middle, then was rubbing my tricky writer hands together by the end. Very carefully worded, but very carefully read by you. _Loved_ that you took the time to think through all of that line by line! Thank you!

**Princess of the Fae:** Hey, yeah! I went back and split a chapter in half—sorry for the confusion! Thanks!

**LittleMargarita:** Gotta keep ya guessing til the very end :) Thanks!

**penciltouch:** I'm so glad to hear you've enjoyed the story so much. As for that happy ending…well, I love 'em :) Thank you!

**holmsie:** Not sure how brilliant the slight of hand was, but it was intentionally tricky :) Awesome that you picked up on it! Thanks!

**jujulr:** Hope this chapter cleared some things up! Thank you!

**silentparanoia:** Thank you!

**smileyfacebabe:** Your review literally made me grin and blush all at the same time :) The time thing _is_ confusing, and I'm not sure how to make it any less so, unfortunately. And knowing you've enjoyed the story so much has definitely been worth writing it—so thank you!

**under00z:** I'm always afraid I'm not writing anything vary craftily, so it's great to hear the story has kept you intrigued—I'm doing something right! One more chapter to go! Thanks!


	29. Fridays and Saturdays and All

Fridays and Saturdays and All

Daylight glittered over the back of Sarah's eyelids. Feeling lethargically content, she stretched and opened her eyes—

—came instantly awake when she looked up at a white plaster ceiling with a small crack spidering out of the corner.

Sarah bolted upright—in _her_ bed. In _her_ house.

_No, this isn't right…_

She found herself wearing a white tank top and plaid shorts—_not_ what she remembered falling asleep in. Her fingers gripped cotton sheets—_they were supposed to be something finer than _cotton—as she tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Was this a trick? Was she still Underground? If so, where was her mischievous Goblin King?

Because the last she remembered…

_"I should probably close my eyes for this again, huh?" She sighed as Jareth wrapped his arms around her. "Can you make it less spinny? I'd rather not feel like I'm going to throw up."_

_Jareth chuckled. "It's only unsettling the first few times," he promised._

_She scrunched her nose, closed her eyes, and tried to keep her lunch out of the back of her throat as the entire world _shifted_._

_"I don't understand why we couldn't have come here sooner," she said later, when her stomach had finally found its proper place. She turned away from the twisting view of the Labyrinth sprawling out below her and looked at Jareth._

_"The simple answer is you weren't strong enough to move us so far."_

_"And the complicated answer?"_

_"Is for after you've cleaned up." He sniffed with mock distaste. "You're filthy, princess."_

_She laughed, a sound quickly stifled when he moved across the room and caught her up in an electric kiss. Then he left her to bathe, her lips still tingling._

_When she saw him again, he looked like the Goblin King she remembered from thirteen years ago and yet…he stood before her with an easier air. The set of his mouth, the gleam in his smoke and cobalt eyes was…gentler, somehow…_

_She breathed in his scent of wild moonlight when he stood before her, closed her eyes as his fingers sank into her damp hair, allowed herself to finally exhale and sink into him. Because it was over. She wasn't running, wasn't searching for anyone, wasn't trying to save anyone, wasn't playing against the clock. _

_So now, when he kissed her, it was a leisurely press of his lips against hers, a slow exploration of her mouth. His hands outlined the curves of her hips. Her fingers memorized the planes of his chest. Magic sparked as their skin touched, a low pulse that steadily built between them…And, _I wish it could have been like this from the beginning_, she thought…_

Sarah scrambled out of bed. She crossed the room and yanked the door open, almost confused to find the familiar hallway on the other side.

"Jareth?"

She called his name from the top of the stairs—clambered down them when there was no response. Her thoughts stumbled around each other as she searched the house. Maybe he had brought them here because…because…

Empty. The kitchen, the living room. The downstairs bathroom.

She was alone.

Closing the front door on the empty porch, she rested her head against the warm wood. A dark thought tried to wriggle into focus. Sarah shook it away.

_No,_ she thought. _He wouldn't…_

As she passed through the kitchen again, she absently picked up her phone and glanced at its face—

_Stared_ at it.

_June 27__th_, the date read.

"But that…that's not _possible_," she breathed.

Because she'd only arrived at the house the day before. Today she had…she had weeded the garden, bought an air conditioning unit…

She dashed up the stairs, skidded around the corner back into her bedroom. Ignoring the wild look in her eyes, she strode purposefully toward the mirror.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall!"

She waited two breaths. Three…Six. Slammed her hand onto the silvery surface when nothing happened. The mirror banged against the wall, but continued to show the mundane setting of her bedroom as it wavered to stillness.

"Jareth! You tricky bastard!"

She glared at her reflection; a reflection devoid of the amulet she'd once been entrusted with—one now hanging around the neck of the Goblin King. Where it belonged.

_Maybe where it never left?_

The thought made her hand pause before smacking the mirror again. Her lips parted, her eyes widened and her reflection mimicked the terrible disbelief slowly creeping over her face.

"No."

Her fingers curled into her palm. She dropped her arm. Took a step away from the mirror.

"No. Not even you would be that cruel…"

Cruel enough to make it all seem real?

Sarah shook her head, not willing to let the thought anchor itself.

But her dreams…her dreams had always been so real.

She spun around, dashed back downstairs, dug through the front hall closet looking for…

"It isn't here," she whispered, relief spiraling her voice upward when she didn't find her backpack. She ran up to her bedroom again, panting as she glared at the mirror. "Okay, enough is enough. I know it wasn't a dream. So how do I make you _work_?"

_"The only thing hindering you is your refusal to believe."_

She screwed her mouth to the side, squeezed her eyes shut; placed her palms flat on the cool surface and leaned into it, _wishing_ with every fiber of her being. She wished she was back Underground. She wished she could see the Goblin King.

_"More specific."_

She wished she could feel the magic in the air breathe against her skin. She wished she was with the Master of Time, Creator of Dreams, Patron of Wishes—no. She wished she was with _Jareth_, the man, the king, the Other.

_"Her power over his powers."_

"Jareth! Show yourself right now!"

The silver surface rippled. Sarah sucked in a sharp breath and tried to press her hand through.

Because he stood there, his back to her. A soundless wind ran playful fingers through his starlit locks, whipped his tattered cloak around his lean frame. She didn't know where he was, wished she could see the expression on his face.

"Jareth!"

But he couldn't hear her.

_Or he's ignoring me…_

"You lousy jerk! I better not have nearly died rescuing your glittery ass and saving your world just to have you throw me _back here_!"

His image wavered…

"No!"

…faded around the edges…

"You can't leave me here like this! You can't because—"

Sarah's fingers pressed against the smooth surface as her room took focus again. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the mirror.

"Because I love you," she whispered.

He fulfilled her every wish in ways she'd never realized until he wasn't there. And she…

She fulfilled his, she knew. She made his dreams come true simply by _being_. It was all he needed, all he'd ever wanted.

_"Are you asking what my deepest, _darkest_, desire is?"_

What would the wishes and dreams of a goblin king consist of? Sarah could hardly imagine, but knew it would take lifetimes to make all of them into a reality.

But now…now she was stuck on the wrong side of the mirror. And the only thing she wanted was to go back.

_"You love me. Now now. Later. After…all of this…"_

_"Are you saying you think I'm going to fall in love with you?"_

_"I know you are."_

She knew how deeply she'd fallen. She'd give him everything, and he'd do the same, unfailingly, simply because he loved her—enough to find her, over and over, enough to risk his sanity and his life to make sure _this_ time she'd make it through the madness.

He loved her enough to even let her walk away if it was what she truly wanted.

"But it's not!" she cried, slamming an open palm on the mirror. "I want to go back! I want the magic and the wishes. I _believe_ now! Why would you take it all away when I finally started to believe again?"

Her trembling question went unanswered. She pressed her lips together, railed against the hot prick at the corners of her eyes. She pulled in a slow, deep breath, considered this defeat with narrowed eyes and an arrogantly tilted chin.

But no matter how much she shouted, how hard she wished, the mirror refused to work again. She spent the next two months wishing on falling stars, throwing pennies into wells, hopping in and out of toadstool rings.

And, while she wasn't obsessing over how to get back where she wanted to go, she packed up the house, put it on the market, found a place to live closer to her family. She told her brother her story. Because she'd always been honest with Toby ever since that day thirteen years ago.

"Did all that really happen, Sar?" Toby asked breathlessly.

She squinted as she looked across the little pond from the stone bridge. The sun reflected cheerfully from the water, but it wasn't the brilliance of the day creating the tears in her eyes.

"It felt like it did." She smiled at her brother. "Who knows? Maybe I just have a great imagination."

Toby nodded thoughtfully. "I'd make a killer king," he finally concluded.

Sarah laughed, ruffled his hair in the way that made him growl with annoyance, and told him he'd definitely make a terrific king.

Then, one day—

"Sarah?"

Her heart leaped and she spun around, not daring to hope—not able to stop herself from doing it anyway.

Puzzlement pulled at Jareth's brow as he looked at her. He reached out, but pulled away before he touched the other side of the mirror.

"Sarah, where did you disappear to?" He glanced behind her, to either side, and the crease on his brow vanished. "Ah, I see. Back to your world." He nodded, as though he had expected as much and it didn't affect him in the slightest. "I suppose it was only natural for you to want to return. We had an agreement, after all."

She stared at him. "No, I…An agreement…?"

_"I want you to swear to leave me and mine alone when I win. Forever."_

But, _"_If_ you win, I'll leave you alone. If you still so choose,"_ was the real bargain she'd made. And she _wasn't_ choosing that. It had been something other than the agreement that had brought her back here…something like—

_"I wish it could have been like this from the beginning."_

—a wish.

A small laugh bubbled up her throat, broke through her lips. All this time and she was still careless.

"I'm not sure what's funny," Jareth said, frowning. "You've been gone nearly a week. I thought…"

His mouth tightened around the words and he turned his head. Sarah took a step forward, not wanting to miss what flashed through those mercurial eyes.

"You thought what, Goblin King?" she whispered. "Thought…I'd left you?"

That sneering mask slid over his face. But it was softer, now, an attempt to hide the shine of heartache in his gaze. "I thought perhaps something had gone amiss," he stated tonelessly.

"No." A smile tugged at Sarah's lips. "Just a silly girl making silly wishes."

Jareth shook his head. "When will you learn?" he tsked, amusement lacing his voice. Then, his expression bland and his voice once again impassive, he asked, "So, you truly didn't want to return there?"

His gaze held an anxious glow that made Sarah's heart skip. "I've been trying for the past two months to figure out how to get back to you." She took another step forward. "At first, you know, I thought it might have all been some elaborate dream. And then I was afraid maybe you'd sent me away now that…now that I'm no longer useful."

"Your dreams are quite extraordinary, but your adventure wasn't one of them. And I…" His voice softened. "…I find you quite useful no matter what we're doing."

A dark thread fluttered across the surface of the mirror. Without thinking, Sarah reached for it—

—and a strong wind snagged at her clothes, tangled through her hair. She looked at the thread between her fingers and frowned. "That couldn't have appeared when I first saw you in the mirror?" she asked, turning her confused expression on Jareth.

"Your magic doesn't work quite the same in your world as it does here," he told her. "It's bound by too many rules."

Sarah made a sound of annoyance and flicked the thread away. "I don't play by the rules anymore."

Jareth tilted his head back and laughed. Sarah turned away from him with a pleased grin, and found they stood on top of the highest tower of his castle. She could see the Labyrinth and beyond, to where the dusty red landscape curved into the tangerine sky.

"You don't seem to very upset by what transpired. I was afraid…" Jareth hesitated. "I had thought maybe you'd left because of the truths you'd discovered."

Sarah stared across the Labyrinth as she reexamined those conflicting emotions she'd been left with. No matter what anyone said, her husband had been real. She had thought, when the Fool of the Forth had appeared to her in that guise, her heart would break all over again. But she had mourned the literal death of the relationship long before she'd been aware of the deception, so the blow hadn't been fatal. How could it when her heart belonged to another?

"Turns out, he wasn't my Prince Charming after all," she said with a shrug.

"Prince Charming," Jareth repeated ponderously. Sarah glanced at him from the corner of her eye, unsurprised to find his face devoid of expression. "Why on earth would you settle for a prince?"

She laughed. "You're right. I should have aimed to snare the heart of a god."

"Let's not go overboard. Perhaps something in between. A king, maybe."

Amusement danced through his tone. But a wary light shone in his eyes as he waited for her reaction, for her to hear what lay in the spaces between those words. She realized, with a soft breath, she'd never once told him how she felt about him.

"Like…the Goblin King?"

"Certainly not. Haven't you heard? Goblins are filthy creatures. Besides, I'm told their king is a miserable cheat and completely untrustworthy."

Sarah nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "That's too bad," she murmured. "I realized, after everything, I do love him. I had hoped he'd be there." She glanced at Jareth, noticed he'd gone very still next to her. "Just, you know, in case my world fell down again."

Silence.

Then, "I'll never let you fall," a whisper nearly snatched away by the wind.

Warm affection unfurled in her stomach, spread to her heart where it blossomed. Sarah spread her arms and pitched forward on the edge of the tower, watching as the sharp rocks loomed up toward her.

Strong arms caught her securely around the waist. Able hands pulled her gently from the ledge. Sarah turned within the embrace, smiled at Jareth before he dropped a kiss full of sweet promises on her lips; promises to sacrifice everything for her because she meant more to him than she could ever fathom. Promises to give her anything if only she'd never leave him because he'd already pledged himself to her forever.

Promises to love her, furiously and senselessly, with his entire being, until the end of time and after. Because he didn't know any other way.

She'd taken the path between those stars and found her happy ending.

"That's all I've ever wished for."

* * *

**Final Notes:** I can't believe this is The End! Even though the story summary doesn't guarantee Happily Ever After, I'm sticking with this traditional fairy tale ending (and I'm a romantic at heart—this adventure/action/plot stuff isn't what I normally do, lol). I'm so glad all of you joined me on the crazy adventure! I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Now, I'm moving on to other things...perhaps another Laby fic... ;)

A **note** about the time differences for Jareth and Sarah in this chapter: I'm taking the route of C.S. Lewis' Narnia on this one and not making any hard calculations about time flow! :)

A HUGE thank you to the fabulous **startraveller776** for being my beta for these final chapters! (Why are you still reading this? Go! Read _her_ stories!)

**Chapter Title:** **Orlando:** "Then love me, Rosalind." **Rosalind:** "Yes, faith, I will, Fridays and Saturdays and all." **Orlando:** "And wilt thou have me?" **Rosalind:** "Ay, and twenty such…" _As You Like It, Act IV, scene I_

**VampireMafiaQueen:** It seems we're in sync—I always update on my days off! :) I'm so glad the story kept you guessing, kept you interested, and that you enjoyed it! Thank you!

**startraveller776:** You're just the best for helping me out, then writing such a lovely review! Amazing, ah, haha, well gosh *blushes* Lol! I _had_ to bring Anann back—no good villain dies the first time! This is what I've learned from watching too many horror movies, as well. I was so afraid, introducing her in person so late, that she would come off as just a blah antagonist. I still kinda think she did, but I like her more than I thought I would, lol. Thank you so much!

**jinx1764:** I'm exhausted after this, lol! Just dead on the floor exhausted, so I'm glad you think I've brought everything together well—otherwise, I'm sure my brain might die. Seriously. Jake's last name appeared in the very first chapter, but never again, which wasn't necessarily intentional; it just seemed to work out that way (adding it again and again would have felt awkward, I think, but I may go back and rework that...). Now, we're off to more lucrative efforts, yes? Yes! :) Thank you!

**LittleMargarita:** I tried very hard to keep people guessing, but not to make it really frustrating, so I'm glad to hear you think I accomplished it! Thank you!

**Dancing Nancies41:** I really wanted to keep the story going until the very end, you know? And I can't believe it's over! I'm also kind of sad this is the last chapter, but ready to move on to other things :) Thank you!

**xxyangxx2006:** To tell you the truth, I'm totally a happily ever after kinda gal and, as much as I would love to brave the world of tragedies, I just don't think I have it in me to pull one off; so I definitely couldn't have turned this story into one, lol. Thank you!

**UndergroundDaydreams:** One little last twist at the end was necessary XD I'm not entirely sure I explained all the time travel and the worlds in a completely satisfactory manner, but I'm am slowly rewriting this, so I'll try to tie all that together better. Oh, I'm so glad you felt that way about them as a couple! I wanted to make it feel like they were unified, but wanted to go about it in a subtle way. Thank you so much for all your reviews!

**Cordite Quill:** I was so glad the identity Evil Queen didn't come out of left field for people! Obviously, I didn't want to come out and _tell_ everyone, but I didn't want to make it too vague. As confusing as it may have been, I'm so pleased that people were really unsure of Jareth's intent, even if it was just for a moment. Ah, yes! I had to bring Anann back from the dead at least once, because no good villain goes down the first time! As for Anann's name, there's no real explanation for it within the story, but she is a significant character in mythology, and the name is an alternate for the Morrigan. Perhaps I'll try to work that in during a rewrite :) I'm so glad you've enjoyed the story! Thank you!


End file.
